which she knew Stefan had entirely forgotten--and notified the hotel
office that their room would be given up next morning.

"O thou above rubies and precious pearls!" chanted Stefan from the bed.

After dinner they sat in Washington Square. Their marriage moon was
waning, but still shone high and bright. Under her the trees appeared
etherealized, and her light mingled in magic contest with the white beams
of the arc lamps near the arch. Above each of these, a myriad tiny moths
fluttered their desirous wings. Under the trees Italian couples wandered,
the men with dark amorous glances, the girls laughing, their necks gay
with colored shawls. Brightly ribboned children, black-haired, played
about the benches where their mothers gossiped. There was enchantment in
the tired but cooling air.

Stefan was enthusiastic. "Look at the types, Mary! The whole place is
utterly foreign, full of ardor and color. I have cursed America without
cause--here I can feel at home." To her it was all alien, but her heart
responded to his happiness.

On the bench next them sat a group of Italian women. From this a tiny boy
detached himself, plump and serious, and, urged by curiosity, gradually
approached Mary, his velvet eyes fixed on her face. She lifted him,
resistless, to her knee, and he sat there contentedly, sucking a colored
stick of candy.

"Look, Stefan!" she cried; "isn't he a lamb?"

Stefan cast a critical glance at the baby. "He's paintable, but horribly
sticky," he said. "Let's move on before he begins to yell. I want to see