It was the most amazing thing--so real, I mean. Every person
I think of, I have to stop and make sure whether I really know them,
or whether I dreamed them. Even you!"
"Was I in it?" laughed Mr. Simpkinson. "What did I do?"
But I decided I'd better not tell him. "It wasn't a polite dream," I
said. "Let me see if I can walk now." I started down the aisle.
"Yes, I'm all right."
"Do you suppose that crowd will bother you again? Perhaps I'd better
go with you," said the apostle of muscular Christianity.
"No, no," I said. "They're not after me especially. I'll slip away
in the other direction."
So I bade Mr. Simpkinson good-bye, and went out on the steps, and
the fresh air felt good to me. I saw the crowd down the street; the
ex-service men were still pushing and shouting, driving people away
from the theatre. I stopped for one glance, then hurried away and
turned the corner. As I was passing an office building, I saw a big
limousine draw up. The door opened, and a woman stepped out: a bold,
dark, vivid beauty, bedecked with jewels and gorgeous raiment of
many sorts; a big black picture hat, with a flower garden and parts
of an aviary on top--
Her glance lit on me.
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