In the evening glow her face was gloriously beautiful,--clear-cut as a cameo, warm as a rose. It was no longer clouded with anger. She seemed taller. The smart riding costume had brought her trim figure into direct contrast with his own height and breadth, and she had looked like a slim, half-grown boy beside his six feet and over. Now, in her black and white checked sport skirt and dark sweater jacket, she was revealed as a woman quite well above the average height. He was standing in front of the drug store when the big car went by a few minutes later, filled with people. She was driving, the chauffeur sitting in the seat beside her. In the tonneau he observed the two Dowd sisters, Mr. and Mrs. Pollock and Flora Grady. As the car whizzed by, A. Lincoln Pollock espied him. Waving his hand triumphantly, the editor called out: "Hello, Court!" The object of this genial shout did not respond by word or action. He looked to see if the girl at the wheel turned her head for a glance in his direction. She did not, and he experienced a fresh twinge of annoyance. He muttered something under his breath. The car disappeared around a bend as he turned to enter the store. "That was Alix Crown, Court," remarked Charlie Webster from the doorway. "Little too dark to get a good look at her, but wait till she flashes across you in broad daylight some time. She'll make you forget all those Fifth Avenue skirts so quick your head'll swim." "Is THAT so?" retorted Courtney, allowing rancour to get the better of fairness. Down in his heart he had said that Alix Crown was the loveliest girl he had ever seen. "What do you know about Fifth Avenue?" Charlie Webster grinned amiably. He was not offended by the other's tone. "Well, I've seen it in the movies," he explained. "What are you sore about?" "Sore? I'm not sore. What put that into your head?" The rotund superintendent of the elevator fanned himself lazily with his straw hat.