It would be
as easy to go on board at midnight as now.
He selected a new vaudeville and listened to it with surprising freshness
of interest; but toward eleven o'clock he again began to dread the
approaching necessity of going down to the steamer. There was something
peculiarly unnerving in the idea of spending the rest of the night in a
stifling cabin jammed against the side of a wharf.
He left the theatre and strolled across to the Fifth Avenue. It was now
nearly midnight and a stream of carriages poured up town from the opera
and the theatres. As he stood on the corner watching the familiar
spectacle it occurred to him that many of the people driving by him in
smart broughams and C-spring landaus were on their way to the Gildermere
ball. He remembered Miss Talcott's note of the morning and wondered if she
were in one of the passing carriages; she had spoken so confidently of
meeting him at the ball. What if he should go and take a last look at her?
There was really nothing to prevent it. He was not likely to run across
any member of the firm: in Miss Talcott's set his social standing was good
for another ten hours at least. He smiled in anticipation of her surprise
at seeing him, and then reflected with a start that she would not be
surprised at all.
His meditations were cut short by a fall of sleety rain, and hailing a
hansom he gave the driver Mrs. Gildermere's address.
As he drove up the avenue he looked about him like a traveller in a
strange city.
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