A few gas jets dimly lighted up Twenty-third Street, and the stores that lined the opposite side frowned dark and gloomy upon the few people who occasionally made their appearance as they walked from the darkness into the light of the street lamps, and then disappeared again into the shadows beyond. Coming towards the young couple from Sixth Avenue was a man, thoughtfully walking along, as if, unable to sleep, he had sought the quiet streets to think. Richard noticed him, and pressing Dido’s arm, he whispered: “Look at this man.” “Yes, yes,” she said, excitedly. The men exchanged glances, and the stranger raised his hat stiffly in response to Richard’s cordial greeting. After they had passed, Richard said: “Why do you tremble so? I merely wanted to call your attention to him. That is Mr. Clarke, the gentleman I had the experience with in the Hoffman House bar.” “Mr. Clarke!” cried Dido, in amazement. “_Why that is Tolman Bike!_” CHAPTER XIII. A LOVERS’ QUARREL. “Why!” as if unpleasantly surprised at his visit, “how do you do?” Such was Penelope Howard’s greeting to Richard Treadwell the morning following the meeting in the Eden Musée. He could not stay away from her, so he decided to try to explain all about Dido. He wished now he had not been so anxious to keep the affair a secret until Penelope’s return. It made things look all the blacker for him. Penelope was a clever girl. She was bitterly hurt, but she had no intention of quarreling with Dick. If she experienced any jealous pangs he should not have the satisfaction of knowing it. She would merely maintain a cold indifference and make him feel that, do as he pleased, it was nothing to her. She would smile, but indifferently, and not with the smile of affection with which she had always greeted him. She would treat him in a manner that would show her displeasure and utter lack of affection for him, but she would not quarrel and so give him a chance to offer an apology or explanation. “You don’t seem very glad to see me?” Dick ventured, with a forced smile. Penelope looked with well assumed amazement and surprise at his audacity, and, raising her eyebrows, said with a slightly rising inflection, “No?” Richard felt very ill at ease. “You don’t understand,” he continued, helplessly. “I hope at least you will allow me to explain the scene which you witnessed last night.” She said, with a cold smile: “Really, you must excuse me. I have no right or desire to know anything about your personal affairs.” “Confound it, Penelope. Don’t be so infernally indifferent,” exclaimed the young man with exasperation. She simply looked at him. Scorn and disdain was pictured on her expressive countenance now. “I hope Mrs. Van Brunt is well?” he said awkwardly, hoping to bridge over Penelope’s anger. “Quite well, thank you,” looking idly out the window. “Is she at home?”