William Henry was as much surprised as the damsel Una. He had no idea that Maude was nearer to him than Accomac, and he was in Baltimore for the day merely to mingle with the holiday crowds and perhaps encounter some Eastern Shore friend from whom he might learn news of her. His presence on Fulton avenue was due to the identical reason as that which inspired thousands of others curious to see the start of a big parade. When he saw Maude come out of the doorway, a vision in white, he thought for a moment he had gone insane and was having a hallucination. Then he reflected that it could not possibly be Maude Preston in Baltimore and wearing such theatrical clothes on the street in broad daylight. Then he looked again and was certain it was Maude. Besides, hadn't she recognized him and put out her arm to steady herself against the arch of the doorway? "Maude!" he exclaimed, simply, as he hurried up the marble steps. "Bill Henry!" she cried, faintly. She held out her hands and he took them. "I've been sorry a long time, Bill Henry," she said. "And I, too, sweetheart." He would have kissed her in complete reconciliation, but Maude was conscious of the crowd on the street. "Don't, Bill Henry," she whispered as she laughed, flushed and tenderly pushed him away. He held on to both her hands. Melvale, in the vestibule behind, had stood petrified as the incident developed. He was wise enough to understand that a reconciliation of lovers was in progress. Their words, and, above all, the ardency of their glances betrayed that. From down Fulton avenue came the sound of a great bell. The parade had started. "Hurry," said Melvale, "you must take your position, Miss Preston." "Take your position, Maude?" asked William Henry calmly, ignoring Melvale. "Yes, Bill Henry," said his sweetheart, hurriedly; "I'm to be the Goddess of Truth on that float there." William Henry turned and looked at the float. Then he stood off a step or two and studied Maude's make up. "I've never seen you look handsomer," he said, slowly, "but somehow you don't seem natural. I'd rather have met you again when you were not so full of paint and powder. I loved you always just as you were, without fancy fixings." The bell was getting farther away. "Come, Miss Preston," urged Melvale. "We will have to hurry." For the first time William Henry recognized the presence of Melvale. "She ain't going, Mister," declared William Henry, ungrammatically, but firmly. "Not going!" screamed Melvale. "Oh! Bill," stammered Maude, "they've gone to such a lot of expense and trouble! And they've been so kind to me!" "I don't care," returned William Henry. "Down in Accomac we don't like this theatre business for girls we love, and I tell you I am not going to see you in that parade, showing yourself off to all Baltimore and thousands more, too. Who knows how many people are here from down home? If you want this notoriety and fuss, Maude," he went on sternly, "I can leave again."