When she was left alone, she had a little sigh of relief, as though she was glad to be able to let her thoughts run where they would without interruption. She walked slowly to the ribbon-counter in a far corner of the store, unconscious of the persons upon whom her eyes rested. She was thinking of herself and of her own future. She wondered whether that future was then hanging in the balance. She had early discovered that she was not very pretty, although her mother was always telling her that she had a good figure; and she had reached the age of twenty-two without having had any particular attention from any man. She had begun to ask herself whether any man ever would single her out and make her interested in him and implore her to be his wife. And now in the past few months it seemed to her as if this dream might come true. There was no doubt that Addison Wyngard had been attentive all through the winter. Other girls had noticed it, too, and had teased her about it. He had been her partner three times at the dances of the Cotillion of One Hundred. And when some of the men of that wide circle had got up the Thursday Theater Club, he had joined only after he had found out that she was going to be a member. She recalled that he had told her that he did not care for the theater, and that he was so busy he felt he had no right to go out in the evening. The managing clerk of a pushing law firm could not control his own time even after office hours; and there had been one night when he was to be her escort at the Theater Club a box of flowers had come at six o'clock, with a note explaining that unexpected business forced him to break the engagement. And the seat beside her had been vacant all the evening. Even when she came to the ribbon-counter she did what she had to do mechanically, with her thoughts ever straying from her duty of matching widths and tints. Her mind kept escaping from the task in hand and persisted in recalling the incidents of her intimacy with him. After she had made her purchases she took a seat at the end of the counter, which happened to be more or less deserted just then. Three shop-girls, who had gathered to gossip during the noon lull in trade, looked at her casually as she sat down, and then went on with their own conversation, which was pitched in so shrill a key that she could not help hearing it. "She says to him, she says, 'Willy, I'll report you every time I catch you, see?' and she's reported him three times this morning already. That ain't what a real lady ought to do, I don't think." "Who'd she report him to?" one of the other salesladies asked. "Twice to Mr. Maguire. Once she reported him to Mr. Smith, and he didn't take no notice. He just laughed. But Mr. Maguire, he talked to Willy somethin' fierce. And you know Willy's got to stand it, for he's got that cross old mother of his to keep; he has to get her four quarts of paralyzed milk every day, Sundays too."