His cue
was now for a waiting part; he could not guess the role he would be
expected to play.
"It IS interesting to watch them," he replied, postulating her mood.
"It is the wonderful drama of life. Some are going to supper and some
to--er--other places. One wonders what their histories are."
"I do not," said the girl; "I am not so inquisitive. I come here to
sit because here, only, can I be near the great, common, throbbing
heart of humanity. My part in life is cast where its beats are never
felt. Can you surmise why I spoke to you, Mr.--?"
"Parkenstacker," supplied the young man. Then he looked eager and
hopeful.
"No," said the girl, holding up a slender finger, and smiling
slightly. "You would recognize it immediately. It is impossible to
keep one's name out of print. Or even one's portrait. This veil and
this hat of my maid furnish me with an _incog_. You should have seen
the chauffeur stare at it when he thought I did not see. Candidly,
there are five or six names that belong in the holy of holies, and
mine, by the accident of birth, is one of them. I spoke to you, Mr.
Stackenpot--"
"Parkenstacker," corrected the young man, modestly.
"--Mr. Parkenstacker, because I wanted to talk, for once, with a
natural man--one unspoiled by the despicable gloss of wealth and
supposed social superiority. Oh! you do not know how weary I am of
it--money, money, money! And of the men who surround me, dancing
like little marionettes all cut by the same pattern.
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