They had stood--Dick and the newsboy--in the strong light from a shop window, and the little scene may have been noted by a dozen persons in the crowd that had flowed by them. But one man who had come up from the direction in which Dick was going, a big man, muffled to the eye-glasses in an ulster, had seemed particularly interested. Dick’s back was toward him as he passed,--she had turned to the window in order to see into her purse,--but there was something familiar about the graceful line of her slight figure, and he looked at her closely, as one who thinks he recognizes but cannot be sure, and when he was a few yards by he looked again. This time he saw her face just as she nodded farewell to the newsboy, and in an instant he had turned about and was off in pursuit; but when he came up to where the little urchin was still standing, he stopped, fumbled in his outer pockets, drew out a quarter of a dollar, and held it out to him. “Here you are, boy,” he said, and hurried after Dick, who was now half a square away. When only a few steps behind he called:-- “Dick! Dick! What a pace you’ve got! Wait a bit.” She turned, recognizing his voice; as he came alongside, he added:-- “You never were easy to catch, but you seem to be getting worse in that respect. Beast of a night, isn’t it?” It was dark, and in the additional protection of her high fur collar Dick permitted herself to smile; but she commented only on the last part of his remark. The wrestle with the gale had put her out of breath, and she spoke in gasps. “Oh, yes--but it’s a good beast. Like a big overgrown--Newfoundland puppy.” He fell in step with her, and they walked on more slowly in silence; for they were good enough friends for that. At length she said,-- “I thought you were going home to spend Christmas.” “I did expect to, but I couldn’t.” Her tone was colder when she spoke. “It’s too bad that you were detained.” “Detained!” he exclaimed. “You know what I meant, Dick. When mother invited you to spend the holidays with us, and I thought from what you said that you would, why I expected to go, too. But as long as you stay here, why I shall, that’s all: you don’t play fair, Dick.” “That spoils everything,” she said quietly. Then after a moment, “No, it doesn’t either. You shan’t make me cross on Christmas Eve, whatever you say. Only, sometimes you make it rather hard to play fair.” He answered quickly: “You’re quite right about that. I suppose I do, and pretty often. How do you put up with me at all, Dick?” She laughed. “Oh, I manage it rather easily. You’re nearly always good. Just now, for instance, walking away out here with me. You’ll come in to dinner with us, won’t you?” “I think I’d better not. Mr. Bagsbury and I have had about all we can stand of each other for one week. We’re getting used to each other by degrees. I wonder if I irritate him as much as he does me. Do you really like him, Dick?”