Behold the path now made plain for the lurker and retracer of steps! No need even for those well-formulated lies; he could simply accept the theory of coincidence. And, most unaccountably, he found that he could n’t. Perhaps he could have, had he not looked into her eyes just then. That steady, limpid, candid, confident regard of hers forbade even a petty and harmless deceit of convenience. Once for all Jeremy Robson knew that whatever might be between them in future, there would at least be truth. And with a sharp pang, felt the foreboding that the truth might yet hurt him to the limit of his capacity for pain. “No,” he denied. “No coincidence.” “Not?” she asked, surprised. “I’ve passed here every day for the last ten days.” “Do you live on this block?” “No. In the other end of town, up near the University.” “Then you would not pass here to go to The Record office.” “Your geography is unimpeachable.” “Is it a riddle? I am not at all clever at them.” “It’s a confession. I’ve been coming this way day after day for a particular purpose.” “What was it?” “To see you again.” “What did you wish to see me about?” “Nothing. Nothing in particular.” “Just to see me? That is very nice of you.” She studied him with her direct and serene regard. But a small and willful dimple materialized on the brown curve of her cheek, and a little one-sided smile went up to meet it. “Not as a reporter this time?” “Not in the least. A reporter may be just an ordinary human being, off duty, you know.” “Are you just an ordinary human being?” “Very much so. Don’t I strike you that way?” His tone was one of exaggerated anxiety. The girl studied him with impersonal interest, quite free from embarrassment. Magnus Laurens had credited him with good looks. In the usual sense, Miss Ames decided, confirming her first opinion, he was not entitled to this credit. He was rather rugged of build and face, with mobile lips, boyish and pleasant eyes, an obstinate jaw which looked as if it might set to courage and endurance or perhaps to sullenness, and the expression and bearing of one vividly and intelligently curious about the life-scheme of which he was a part. The girl noted, with approval, his dress: quietly harmonious in every detail yet without suggesting the finicky habit; a style which would have been unremarkable in New York or London, but which stood out with a pleasant distinction among the more casual and careless garb of the Middle West. “I really had not given it much thought,” she answered, having completed her scrutiny. “Your methods seem rather out of the ordinary.” “Are you a million years old?” he asked abruptly. If his intention was to startle her, it failed signally. “Surely that is a very personal question. I am not--quite. Why do you ask?”