wife, somewhere, driven mad by his intemperance and cruelty. The other is an English Marquis, so cold and mercenary that I even prefer the diabolism of the Duke. What is it that impels me to tell you these things, Mr. Packenstarker?”
“Parkenstacker,” breathed the young man. “Indeed, you cannot know how much I appreciate your confidences.”
The girl contemplated him with the calm, impersonal regard that befitted the difference in their stations.
“What is your line of business, Mr. Parkenstacker?” she asked.
“A very humble one. But I hope to rise in the world. Were you really in earnest when you said that you could love a man of lowly position?”
“Indeed I was. But I said ‘might.’ There is the Grand Duke and the Marquis, you know. Yes; no calling could be too humble were the man what I would wish him to be.”
“I work,” declared Mr. Parkenstacker, “in a restaurant.”
The girl shrank slightly.
“Not as a waiter?” she said, a little imploringly. “Labor is noble, but—personal attendance, you know—valets and———”
“I am not a waiter. I am cashier in”—on the street they faced that bounded the opposite side of
[63]
