A dozen ragged urchins were prowling around the fountain, casting sidelong glances at a distant policeman.

But it was not hot enough that evening to permit the children to splash in the water, and the policeman drove them off.
"Poor little devils!" said Siward to himself; and he rose, adjusted his crutches, and started through the park with a vague idea of seeing what could be done.
As he limped onward, the sun level in his eyes, he heard somebody speak behind him, but did not catch the words or apply the hail to himself.
Then, "Mr.Siward!" came the low, breathless voice at his elbow.
His heart stopped as he did.

The sun had dazzled his eyes, and when he turned on his crutches he could not see clearly for a second.

That past, he looked at Sylvia, looked at her outstretched hand, took it mechanically, still staring at her with only a dazed unbelief in his eyes.
"I am in town for a day," she said.

"Leila Mortimer and I were driving up town from the bank when we saw you; and the next thing that happened was me, on Fifth Avenue, running after you--no, the next thing was my flying leap from the hansom, and my standing there looking down the street and across the square where you sat.