Yes, Phyllis was certainly beautiful, uncommonly. For years I had
worshipped at her shrine, and then--how little we know of the heart. I
was rather abstracted during the performance, and many of my replies
went wide the mark.
As we were leaving the foyer, Phyllis said: "Jack, a man has been
staring me out of countenance."
"Pembroke?" I laughed.
"No. And moreover, the stare was accompanied by the most irritating
sneer."
"Point him out to me when we reach the street," I said, humoring what I
thought to be a fancy, "and I'll put a head on him."
The sneer was probably meant for an ogle. Beauty has its annoyances as
well as its compensations. As we came under the glare of the outside
lights, Phyllis's hand tightened on my arm.
"Look! there he is, and he is making for us."
At the sight of that face with its hooked nose, its waxed mustache and
imperial, I took a deep breath and held it. In the quick glance I saw
that his right arm hung stiffly at his side. I attempted to slip into
the crowd, but without success. He lifted his hat, smiling into the
astonished face of Phyllis.
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