Tryon Dunham stood in the great stone doorway, watching keenly the passing throng.  He saw the girl at once as she got out of the car, but he did not notice the man in the baggy coat, who lumbered after her and watched with wondering scrutiny as Dunham came forward, lifted his hat, and took her hand respectfully.  Here was an element he did not understand.  He stood staring, puzzled, as they disappeared into the great building; then planted himself in a convenient place to watch until his charge should come out again.  This was perhaps a gentleman who had come to engage her to work for him.  She might be thinking of changing her place.  He must be on the alert.

Dunham placed two chairs in the far corner of the inner parlor, where they were practically alone, save for an occasional passer through the hall.  He put the girl into the most comfortable one, and then went to draw down the shade, to shut a sharp ray of afternoon sunlight from her eyes.  She sat there and looked down upon her shabby shoes, her cheap gloves, her coarse garments, and honored him for the honor he was giving her in this attire.  She had learned by sharp experience that such respect to one in her station was not common.  As he came back, he stood a moment looking down upon her.  She saw his eye rest with recognition upon the hat she wore, and her pale cheeks turned pink.

“I don’t know what you will think of my keeping this,” she said shyly, putting her hand to the hat, “but it seemed really necessary at the time, and I haven’t dared spend the money for a new one yet.  I thought perhaps you would forgive me, and let me pay you for it some time later.”

“Don’t speak of it,” he broke in, in a low voice.  “I am so glad you could use it at all.  It would have been a comfort to me if I had known where it was.  I had not even missed it, because at this time of year I have very little use for it.  It is my travelling hat.”

He looked at her again as though the sight of her was good to him, and his gaze made her quite forget the words she had planned to say.

“I am so glad I have found you!” he went on.  “You have not been out of my thoughts since I left you that night on the train.  I have blamed myself over and over again for having gone then.  I should have found some way to stand by you.  I have not had one easy moment since I saw you last.”

His tone was so intense that she could not interrupt him; she could only sit and listen in wonder, half trembling, to the low-spoken torrent of feeling that he expressed.  She tried to protest, but the look in his face stopped her.  He went on with an earnestness that would not be turned aside from its purpose.

“I came to Chicago that I might search for you.  I could not stand the suspense any longer.  I have been looking for you in every way I could think of, without openly searching, for that I dared not do lest I might jeopardize your safety.  I was almost in despair when I went to dine with Mr. Phillips last evening.  I felt I could not go home without knowing at least that you were safe, and now that I have found you, I cannot leave you until I know at least that you have no further need for help.”