It was the Apollo of her dreams, the singer of the Holland House pavement.

She could not doubt it.

His face, his figure, his walk, and the pleasant smile with which he spoke to his companion were all positive characteristics.

She had forgotten none of them.

His dress was altered to suit the season, but that was an improvement; for divested of his heavy coat, and clothed only in a stylish afternoon suit, his tall, fine figure showed to great advantage; and Ethel told herself that he was even handsomer than she had supposed him to be.
Almost as soon as he entered his carriage there was a movement, and she hoped her driver might advance sufficiently to make recognition possible, but some feeling, she knew not what, prevented her giving any order leading to this result.