It is doubtful, however, if Anna Gates would have applauded Peter had she followed the two in their rambling walk that night.  Direction mattering little and companionship everything, they wandered on, talking of immaterial things—­of the rough pavements, of the shop windows, of the gray medieval buildings.  They came to a full stop in front of the Votivkirche, and discussed gravely the twin Gothic spires and the Benk sculptures on the facade.  And there in the open square, casting diplomacy to the winds, Peter Byrne turned to Harmony and blurted out what was in his heart.

“Look here,” he said, “you don’t care a rap about spires.  I don’t believe you know anything about them.  I don’t.  What did that idiot of a woman doctor say to you to-day?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do very well.  And I’m going to set you right.  She starts out with two premises:  I’m a man, and you’re young and attractive.  Then she draws some sort of fool deduction.  You know what I mean?”

“I don’t see why we need discuss it,” said poor Harmony.  “Or how you know—­”

“I know because she told me.  She knew she had been a fool, and she came to me.  I don’t know whether it makes any difference to you or not, but—­we’d started out so well, and then to have it spoiled!  My dear girl, you are beautiful and I know it.  That’s all the more reason why, if you’ll stand for it, you need some one to look after you—­I’ll not say like a brother, because all the ones I ever knew were darned poor brothers to their sisters, but some one who will keep an eye on you and who isn’t going to fall in love with you.”

“I didn’t think you were falling in love with me; nor did I wish you to.”

“Certainly not.  Besides, I—­” Here Peter Byrne had another inspiration, not so good as the first—­“Besides, there is somebody at home, you understand?  That makes it all right, doesn’t it?”

“A girl at home?”

“A girl,” said Peter, lying manfully.

“How very nice!” said Harmony, and put out her hand.  Peter, feeling all sorts of a cheat, took it, and got his reward in a complete restoral of their former comradely relations.  From abstractions of church towers and street paving they went, with the directness of the young, to themselves.  Thereafter, during that memorable walk, they talked blissful personalities, Harmony’s future, Peter’s career, money—­or its lack—­their ambitions, their hopes, even—­and here was intimacy, indeed!—­their disappointments, their failures of courage, their occasional loss of faith in themselves.

The first real snow of the year was falling as they turned back toward the Pension Schwarz, a damp snow that stuck fast and melted with a chilly cold that had in it nothing but depression.  The upper spires of the Votivkirche were hidden in a gray mist; the trees in the park took on, against the gloom of the city hall, a snowy luminosity.  Save for an occasional pedestrian, making his way home under an umbrella, the streets were deserted.  Byrne and Harmony had no umbrella, but the girl rejected his offer of a taxicab.