He does not know the other side of the fine dresses he meets any more than of the fine houses, with the smiling, glittering windows.

The sun shines bright in his eyes--the street is gay--he nods to his friends--he admires the pretty faces--he wonders at the fast men driving fast horses--he sees the flowers in the windows, the smiling faces between the muslin curtains--he gazes with a kind of awe at the funerals going by, and marks the white bands of the clergymen and the physicians--the elm-trees in the hospital yard remind him of the woods at Delafield; and here comes Abel Newt, laughing, chatting, smoking, with an arm in the arms of two other young men, who are also smoking.

As Gabriel passes Abel their eyes meet.

Abel nods airily, and Gabriel quietly; the next moment they are back to back again--one is going up street, the other down.
It is not one of the splendid houses before which Gabriel stops when he has reached the upper part of the city.

It is not a palace, nor is it near Broadway.