"But you really wouldn’t be taking me out of my way—if that’s what you were thinking," Lawrence expostulated. "I haven’t a thing to do. I’m out for a walk, and one direction is just as good as another for me. I hate to think of your taking any more chances." For a second the girl hesitated. Then her lids drooped a little, and she swayed the least bit, putting out one hand blindly to steady herself against the railing. Barry stepped swiftly forward, and took her arm. "Come!" he said, with a whimsical sort of positiveness. "You really must! I know it’s unconventional, and all that, but we’ll probably never see each other after to-night. I’ll leave you wherever you wish, and say good night. You were heading toward Broadway, weren’t you? Well, we’ll go together." The girl made no protest. Perhaps it was because she had come to the end of her rope, and had no strength left. Perhaps she sensed intuitively the motives which governed this frank, straightforward stranger who had come to her aid so opportunely. At all events, she let her hand rest upon his arm, and walked with him back through the square, across Twenty-fifth Street, into the dazzling stretch of Broadway. The touch of her hand brought again to Barry that odd desire to protect and comfort her. By this time he knew that she was almost perishing with cold. In spite of her effort to control herself, he felt she was shaking violently, and every now and then the unconscious weight of her hand on his arm made him wonder whether some other thing than cold had not contributed to her weakness. He wanted desperately to do something, yet somehow he could not think of any way. He had not asked her where she wished to go, and the girl herself volunteered nothing. And so they walked on up New York’s great artery, he talking carelessly, lightly, and frequently at random as his brain worked in another totally different direction, she answering him briefly now and then in her soft, tired voice, but more often silent—out of sheer weariness, he guessed. Suddenly the electric sign of a well-known restaurant blazing before his eyes gave Lawrence the clew he had been seeking, and he stopped abruptly. "Are you in very much of a hurry?" he asked. She glanced up at him swiftly, and he was struck anew by the charm of her-wonderful eyes, the delicate beauty of her mouth and chin. "Not very," she said, in an odd, restrained tone. "Why?" "I was wondering whether you’d do me a favor," Barry returned glibly. "I meant to get a bite of supper here, and I hate to eat alone. If you’d only take pity on me, and keep me company, I’d be everlastingly obliged. After that we can take a car to where you’re going, so’s to make up time." Again she sent a long, searching glance into his candid, level gray eyes. Then suddenly she laughed, a curious laugh, which had no mirth in it, but rather held an undercurrent of intense pathos. "Very well," she said quietly, with an odd gesture of her hands.