The young man was mollified by her sympathy, and flattered by the obvious attempts of several of the other guests to draw him into conversation. She was correct, and when I went directly to the street she had named, there you were, walking into the Butcher Shop. To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless camaraderie of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang if all the world knew it. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding. “You see,” he said, “you are like an inaccessible gold-mine in all this sort of matter. I spoke a thought aloud. I wouldn't have him see me in this state for the world.
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