THE LAST ARABIAN N I 0 H T 503

crystal glitter now and again, the crunch of the trodden
snow as the night crispened; but nevertheless they stole
into his consciousness and worked obscurely there. He
thought of his boyhood, which he had not left behind
him long, though usually it seemed a hundred years
away, a faded muddle. Now it returned to him vividly,
evoked by the unfamiliar sight of the snow. He had not
had a very happy boyhood, but in this hour, when it
came back purged of its shame and distresses, it seemed
magical and the thought of it warmed and melted him,
so that something suspicious, something grudging, some-
thing in his mind that matched a certain furtive look
he had, shook itself free and then vanished. It left him
feeling confident, eager, a young man in a world full of
friends.

Then he saw her coming up the street, the tall fellow
by her side. He was not sure at first, but then he heard
her voice. He hurried forward to meet them before they
could turn in the entrance to 4A, and he contrived it
so easily that he was able to slow up and then come face
to face with them before they had reached the gate. He
stopped, raised his hat, and cried: "Good evening." He
did not know whether to add "Miss Golspie" or "Lena/*
had no time to decide, but felt that something must
be added, so ended with a mumble that might have been
anything. His heart knocked painfully. She looked
lovelier than ever in the mysterious snowy half-light.

The tall young man stopped at once, raising his hat,
too, and smiling.

"Oh!'1 Lena's soft little cry was charged with mean-
ing; there was dismay, irritation, disgust in it. She hesi-
tated a moment, threw him a quick frowning glance, then
said, coldly: "Oh-good evening/' and at once raoved