Her eyes were perplexed, and she looked about her as if for help. For a moment her gaze fell on Orme, who was close to the policeman’s elbow. 

Now, Orme had a winning and disarming smile. Without hesitation, he touched the policeman on the shoulder, beamed pleasantly, and said: “Pardon me, officer, but this car was forced over by that dray.” 

“She was on the wrong side,” returned the policeman, after a glance which modified his first intention to take offense. “She had no business over here.” 

“It was either that or a collision. My wheel 6 was scraped, as it was.” She, too, was smiling now. 

6

The policeman pondered. He liked to be called “officer”; he liked to be smiled upon; and the girl, to judge from her manner and appearance, might well be the daughter of a man of position. “Well,” he said after a moment, “be more careful another time.” He turned and went back to his work among the other vehicles, covering the weakness of his surrender by a fresh display of angry authority. 

The girl gave a little sigh of relief and looked at Orme. “Thank you,” she said. 

Then he remembered that he did not know this girl. “Can I be of further service?” he asked. 

“No,” she answered, “I think not. But thank you just the same.” She gave him a friendly little nod and turned to the steering-gear. 

There was nothing for it but to go, and Orme returned to the curb. A moment later he saw the black car move slowly away, and he felt as though something sweet and fine were going out of his life. If only there had been some way to prolong the incident! He knew intuitively that this girl belonged to his own class. Any insignificant acquaintance 7 might introduce them to each other. And yet convention now thrust them apart. 

7

Sometime he might meet her. Indeed, he determined to find out who she was and make that sometime a certainty. He would prolong his stay in Chicago and search society until he found her. No one had ever before sent such a thrill through his heart. He must find her, become her friend, perhaps——But, again he laughed to himself, “What a boor I am!” 

After all she was but a passing stranger, and the pleasant revery into which his glimpse of her had led him was only a revery. The memory of her beauty and 

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