There in the midst of the tangle was a big black touring-car. Its one occupant was a girl--and such a girl! Her fawn-colored cloak was thrown open; her face was unveiled. Orme was thrilled when he caught the glory of her face--the clear skin, browned by outdoor living; the demure but regular features; the eyes that seemed to transmute and reflect softly all impressions from without. Orme had never seen anyone like her--so nobly unconscious of self, so appealing and yet so calm. She was waiting patiently, interested in the clamor about her, but seemingly undisturbed by her own part in it. Orme's eyes did not leave her face. He was merely one of a crowd at the curb, unnoted by her, but when after a time, he became aware that he was staring, he felt the blood rush to his cheeks, and he muttered: "What a boor I am!" And then, "But who can she be? who can she be?" A policeman made his way to the black car. Orme saw him speak to the girl; saw her brows knit; and he quickly threaded his way into the street. His action was barely conscious, but nothing could have stopped him at that moment. "You'll have to come to the station, miss," the policeman was saying. "But what have I done?" Her voice was broken music. "You've violated the traffic regulations, and made all this trouble, that's what you've done." "I'm on a very important errand," she began, "and----" "I can't help that, miss, you ought to have had someone with you that knew the rules." Her eyes were perplexed, and she looked about her as if for help. For a moment her gaze fell on Orme, who was close to the policeman's elbow. Now, Orme had a winning and disarming smile. Without hesitation, he touched the policeman on the shoulder, beamed pleasantly, and said: "Pardon me, officer, but this car was forced over by that dray." "She was on the wrong side," returned the policeman, after a glance which modified his first intention to take offense. "She had no business over here." "It was either that or a collision. My wheel was scraped, as it was." She, too, was smiling now. The policeman pondered. He liked to be called "officer"; he liked to be smiled upon; and the girl, to judge from her manner and appearance, might well be the daughter of a man of position. "Well," he said after a moment, "be more careful another time." He turned and went back to his work among the other vehicles, covering the weakness of his surrender by a fresh display of angry authority. The girl gave a little sigh of relief and looked at Orme. "Thank you," she said. Then he remembered that he did not know this girl. "Can I be of further service?" he asked. "No," she answered, "I think not. But thank you just the same." She gave him a friendly little nod and turned to the steering-gear.