The crowd rustled to its feet, preened itself, and took lagging flight toward the street. Belinda marshalled her flock and joined the exodus. She would be glad to reach the hall bedroom and shut its door upon a world that was too much with her. She coveted the stolid, tranquil society of the Pyramids. They would watch her cry with the same impenetrable indifference with which they would watch her laugh, but presumably the Garrick Theatre crowd would be impressed if she should burst into floods of tears. Drearily she followed the six couples of chattering girls who dropped adjectives and exclamations as they went, and who were quite unable to keep in line, according to the prescribed formula, in the midst of the jostling, hurrying crowd; but Belinda was little concerned by that. As a matter of fact, her thoughts were self-centred. This was her first view of a New York crowd, but she received no impression save that men and women alike looked tired and dissatisfied, though surely they were not all elected to spend the next nine months in a boarding-school. The middle aisle emptied her into the lobby; and as she stood there, vaguely conscious that something was incumbent upon her, her wandering glance fell upon a young man across the lobby. Belinda gasped, flushed. The young man's eyes met hers from where he was wedged against the wall. His face, too, lighted into incredulous joy. It was a good-looking face, a gay, boyish face, but browned to a hue that contrasted oddly with the city-bleached skins around him. Perhaps that was why he had attracted attention, and why several heads turned to discover the cause of the sudden illumination. When the owners of the heads saw Belinda they understood and smiled benignantly. All the world loves a lover. Belinda was utterly unconscious of the glances, unconscious of anything save that the gods were good. Here was Jack--Jack, of all men, dropped into the midst of her gloom. Hilarious memories and cheerful anticipations swarmed into her mind. Jack stood for home, old days, old larks, old irresponsibility. New York disappeared from the map. The Select School for Young Ladies ceased to exist. The young ladies themselves were blotted out. Beaming, dimpling, Belinda squeezed a way across the outgoing current. Grinning, radiant, Jack Wendell forced an opening for his square shoulders. They met in the whirlpool, and he cleverly hauled her into a high and dry corner. "Belinda!" "Jack!" Everyone near them smiled sympathetically. Belinda's enthusiasm is often misleading, and on this occasion she was unreservedly enthusiastic. "Is the Massachusetts in?" "Docked yesterday." "And you are going to stay?" "Several weeks--and you?" "All winter." Belinda's delight approached effervescence. Jack's face was a luminous harvest moon. Both were oblivious to the fact that he was still holding her hand.