As I opened the door of my apartment the dog pushed past me. Again I had forgotten it; but it had not forgotten its mistress. I looked inside my bare little rooms. It was hard to say good-by. "Till to-morrow, _mademoiselle_," I said. "And won't you tell me your name?" She drew off her glove and put one hand in mine. "Jacqueline," she answered. "And yours?" "Paul," I said. "_Au revoir_, Monsieur Paul, then, and take my gratitude with you for your goodness." I let her hand fall and hurried down the stairs, confused and choking, for there was a wedding-ring upon her finger. CHAPTER II BACK IN THE ROOM The situation had become more preposterous than ever. Two hours before it would have been unimaginable; one hour ago I had merely been offering aid to a young woman in distress; now she was occupying my rooms and I was hurrying along Tenth Street, careless as to my destination, and feeling as though the whole world was crumbling about my head because she wore a wedding-ring. Certainly I was not in love with her, so far as I could analyze my emotions. I had been conscious only of a desire to help her, merging by degrees into pity for her friendlessness. But the wedding-ring--what hopes, then, had begun to spring up in my heart? I could not fathom them; I only knew that my exaltation had given place to profound dejection. As I passed up the street the taxicab which I had seen at the east end came rapidly toward me. It passed, and I stopped and looked after it. I was certain that it slackened speed outside the door of the old building, but again it went on quickly, until it was lost to view in the distance. Had I given the pursuers a clue by my reappearance? I watched for a few moments longer, but the vehicle did not return, and I dismissed the idea as folly. In truth, there was no reason to suppose that the man I had seen in Herald Square was connected with the two others, or that any of the three had followed us. No doubt the third man was but a street-loafer of the familiar type, attracted by Jacqueline's unusual appearance. And, after all, New York was a civilized city, and I could be sure of the girl's safety behind the street door-lock and that of my apartment door. So I refused to yield to the impulse to go back and assure myself that she was all right. I must find a hotel and get a good night's sleep. In the morning, undoubtedly, I would see the episode in a less romantic fashion. As I went on, new thoughts began to press on my imagination. Such an event as this, told in any gathering of men, why, they would smile at me and call me the victim of an adventuress. The tale about the father, the assumed ignorance of the conventions--how much could be believed?