forest. It took him some minutes to recover, during which he stood
rooted, only his head moving as he watched them borne into the foyer,
there caught in merging side currents and carried toward the main
entrance. It was not till they were almost at the door, Chrystie's high
blonde crest glistening above lower and less splendid ones, that he came
to life. He did it suddenly, with a sharp reaction, and started in
impetuous pursuit. His first movement--a spirited rush--carried him into
a family, a compact phalanx moving solidly upon the exit. He ran into
someone, a child, stammered apologies, placated an irate mother, then
craning his neck for his quarry, saw the high blonde head in the distance
against the darkness of the street.

The check was more than physical. It caused a sudden uprush of his old
timidity and he stood irresolute, in everybody's way, spying at the
distant golden head. It seemed as if they had wanted to avoid him, they
had gone so quickly, just bowed and been carried on--if only Chrystie
would look back and smile. Standing on his toes, jostled and elbowed, he
caught a glimpse of them, all three, outside the door. They appeared
preoccupied, the two girls talking across Aunt Ellen, with no backward
glances for a young man struggling to reach them--anyone could have seen
they had forgotten his existence. With a set face he turned and made for
the side exit. They had no use for him; he would go home to the place
where he belonged.

The bitterness of this thought carried him through the side exit and
there left him. Whatever they felt and however they acted, it was his
duty to see them on the car. Boor! clod! goat! He could still catch them
if he went round to the front, and he started to do it, facing the
emerging throng, battling his way through. That was too slow; he backed
out, turned into the street and ran, charging through streams that had