"If two rooms in bachelor's apartments is living, yes, I am," he said.
"Have you been here long?"
"Three years."
"Three years? Really!" She raised her lovely brows.
"Oh, people may say the world's a small place, Helen," Stephen exclaimed. "But New York isn't. I've been trying for three years to run across your path, and I haven't succeeded until to-day!" He simply couldn't resist being personal with her at every turn.
Helen replied prosaically, "Well, I'm glad we've met at last. It's always a pleasure to see any one from Reddington."
She was almost convincing. Stephen looked at her sharply. Was it pretense, or was she actually unaware of any special significance in this meeting? "Don't you remember the talks we used to have, Helen?" he asked.
"Why, of course," she answered him, but she managed to sound more tactful than honest.
Stephen looked into her well-remembered eyes. "I've never forgotten them," he told her quietly.
Helen would not give him the slightest sign of response.
"I suppose," she went on serenely, "like most young people of our time we tried to settle all the weighty questions of the day, didn't we?"
Stephen felt a pang of disappointment. The years since last he saw Helen had not been a dream. They were real—every one of them was real, and Helen was as far removed, as beyond recall, as his youth.
