It was at this restaurant that Lorison first saw the girl. A flashy
fellow with a predatory eye had followed her in, and had advanced to
take the other chair at the little table where she stopped, but
Lorison slipped into the seat before him. Their acquaintance began,
and grew, and now for two months they had sat at the same table each
evening, not meeting by appointment, but as if by a series of
fortuitous and happy accidents. After dining, they would take a walk
together in one of the little city parks, or among the panoramic
markets where exhibits a continuous vaudeville of sights and sounds.
Always at eight o'clock their steps led them to a certain street
corner, where she prettily but firmly bade him good night and left
him. "I do not live far from here," she frequently said, "and you
must let me go the rest of the way alone."
But now Lorison had discovered that he wanted to go the rest of the
way with her, or happiness would depart, leaving, him on a very lonely
corner of life. And at the same time that he made the discovery, the
secret of his banishment from the society of the good laid its finger
in his face and told him it must not be.
Man is too thoroughly an egoist not to be also an egotist; if he love,
the object shall know it.
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