Promptly¹ at the beginning of twilight², came again to that quiet corner of that quiet, small park the girl in gray. She sat upon a bench and read a book, for there was yet to come a half hour in which print could be accomplished³.

To repeat: Her dress was gray, and plain enough to mask its impeccancy of style and fit. A large meshed⁴ veil imprisoned⁵ 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 hovered⁶ near, relying upon burnt sacrifices to the great joss, Luck. His piety⁷ 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 pounced⁸ upon it with instant avidity, returning it to its owner with that air that seems to flourish in parks and public places - a compound of gallantry and hope, tempered with respect for the policeman on the beat. In a pleasant voice, be risked an inconsequent remark upon the weather that introductory topic responsible for so much of the world's unhappiness-and stood poised⁹ for a moment, awaiting his fate.

The girl looked him over leisurely¹⁰; at his ordinary, neat dress and his features distinguished¹¹ 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 vassal¹² of Luck slid upon the seat by her side with complaisance¹³.

"Do you know," be 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. Didn't 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 unnatural¹⁴ one in your circle. I asked you to sit down; if the invitation must constitute me your honeysuckle, consider it withdrawn¹⁵."