As they came out of the Forty-second Street station they rushed, after the true American fashion, for a Fourth Avenue car. Another followed in two minutes, and had they been German or English they would in leisurely comfort have taken that, but being American they quite needlessly made a breathless rush for the first car, and at its step collided violently with a rotund and florid old male--"glass-of-fashion and mould-of-form." Three "beg pardons" rose simultaneously into the air. Each party drew back deferentially. The conductor, with murder in his eye, yelled fiercely: "Step lively there, will youse!" With beautiful obedience they all sprang forward to a--second collision. Puffing like a porpoise, the old man, hat in hand, gasped apologies to the now helplessly confused girls, until the conductor, with a contemptuous: "Ah--what's the matter wid youse--eider get on or take de nex'," began hauling the girls roughly up the steps with one hand, while with the other he savagely jerked the starting-bell, leaving the man to decide for himself whether to risk his elderly limbs boarding a moving car or to wait for "de nex'" The decision was swiftly made, for, firmly grasping the platform railing, he ran a few steps by the car and then swung himself safely up, in quite a jaunty fashion--for this rakish old beau had determined to keep the girlish young beauties in sight. Coming from the station, and each carrying, as he noticed, a small black silk bag, he correctly concluded that, all unattended, they were undertaking a shopping expedition, and he drew himself up with an air and began to twirl his gray mustache, for, relying on their innocence, his own impressive manner, and the recent contretemps for assistance, he hoped to force an acquaintance--one of those chance acquaintances that, dreaded by all parents, are the absolute bête noir of those mothers who have not been able to teach their young daughters to distinguish between a very courteous reserve and an almost "hail fellow" freedom of speech with amiable strangers. So, it was not long before Sybil, earnestly discussing at what point on their list they should begin, and whether they should leave the car at Twenty-third or at Fourteenth Street, discovered that the overdressed old man opposite was ogling Dorrie outrageously, and her dark eyes flashed indignant glances at him, while she did her best to hold her sister's attention, that she might not be annoyed and shamed by his conduct. This comedy of glances finally caught the attention of a grave-faced young man sitting next to Sybil. He followed the direction of the old man's bold glances, and Dorothy's sweet face held him like a magnet. The rounded cheek, the soft, clear coloring, the sunny, brown hair, the innocent, widely open blue eyes, and the slight lift of the brows, that all unconsciously gave her the pathetic, pleading look that made people ever eager to serve her, moved