She spoke of it on the way home, I remember; but how did she know that you were Vanrevel?
No one in town would be apt to mention you to her." "No, but she did know, you see." "Yes," returned Mr.Gray slowly.

"So it seems! Probably her father told her to avoid you, and described you so that she recognized you as the man who caught the kitten." He paused, picked up the flask, and again applied himself to its contents, his eyes peering over the up-tilted vessel at Tom, who continued to pace up and down the length of the office.

After a time, Crailey, fumbling in his coat, found a long cheroot, and, as he lit it, inquired casually: "Do you remember if she addressed you by name ?" "I think not," Tom answered, halting.

"What does it matter ?" Crailey drew a deep breath.
"It doesn't," he returned.
"She knew me well enough," said Tom, sadly, as he resumed his sentry-go.
"Yes," repeated Crailey, deliberately.

"So it seems; so it seems!" He blew a long stream of smoke out into the air before him, and softly mur-mured again: "So it seems, so it seems." Silence fell, broken only by the sound of Tom's footsteps, until, presently, some one informally shouted his name from the street below.
It was only Will Cummings, passing the time of day, but when Tom turned from the window after answering him, Crailey, his poem, and his flask were gone.
That evening Vanrevel sat in the dusty office, driving himself to his work with a sharp goad, for there was a face that came between him and all else in the world, and a voice that sounded always in his ears.
But the work was done before he rose from his chair, though he showed a haggard visage as he bent above his candles to blow them out.
It was eleven o'clock; Crailey had not come back, and Tom knew that his light-hearted friend would not return for many hours; and so, having no mind to read, and no belief that he could if he tried, he went out to walk the streets.