While the Auto Waits
Promptly at the beginning of twilight came again to that quiet corner of that quiet, small park the girl in grey. She sat upon a bench and read a book, for there was yet to come a half-hour in which print could be accomplished.
To repeat: Her dress was grey, and plain enough to mask its impeccancy of style and fit. A largemeshed veil imprisoned her turban hat and a face that shone through it with a calm and unconscious beauty. She had come there at the same hour on the day previous, and on the day before that; and there was one who knew it.
The young man who knew it hovered near, relying upon burnt sacrifices to the great joss Luck. His piety was rewarded, for, in turning a page, her book slipped from her fingers and bounded from the bench a full yard away.
The young man pounced upon it with instant avidity, returning it to its owner with that air that seems to flourish in parks and public placesa compound of gallantry and hope, tempered with respect for the policeman on the beat. In a pleasant voice, he risked an inconsequent remark upon the weatherthat introductory topic responsible for so much of the worlds unhappinessand stood poised for a moment, awaiting his fate.
The girl looked him over leisurely; at his ordinary, neat dress and his features distinguished by nothing particular in the way of expression.
You may sit down, if you like, she said, in a full, deliberate contralto. Really, I would like to have you do so. The light is too bad for reading. I would prefer to talk.
The vassal of Luck slid upon the seat by her side with complaisance.
Do you know, he said, speaking the formula with which park chairmen open their meetings, that you are quite the stunningest girl I have seen in a long time? I had my eye on you yesterday. Didnt know somebody was bowled over by those pretty lamps of yours, did you, honeysuckle?
Whoever you are, said the girl, in icy tones, you must remember that I am a lady. I will excuse the remark you have just made, because the mistake was, doubtless, not an unnatural onein your circle. I asked you to sit down: if the invitation must constitute me your honeysuckle, consider it withdrawn.
I earnestly beg your pardon, pleaded the young man. His expression of satisfaction had changed to one of penitence and humility. It was my fault, you knowI mean, there are girls, in parks, you knowthat is, of course, you dont know, but
Abandon the subject, if you please. Of course I know. Now, tell me about these people passing and crowding, each way, along these paths. Where are they going? Why do they hurry so? Are they happy?
The young man had promptly abandoned his air of coquetry. His cue was now for a waiting part; he could not guess the rôle he would be expected to play.
It is interesting to watch them, he replied, postulating her mood. It is the wonderful drama of life. Some are going to supper and some toerother places. One wonders what their histories are.
I do not, said the girl; I am not so inquisitive. I come here to sit because here, only, can I be near the great, common, throbbing heart of humanity. My part in life is cast where its beats are never felt. Can you surmise why I spoke to you, Mr.?
Parkenstacker, supplied the young man. Then he looked eager and hopeful.
No, said the girl, holding up a slender finger, and smiling slightly. You would recognize it immediately. It is impossible to keep ones name out of print. Or even ones portrait. This veil and this hat of my maid
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