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"But we don't know each other— it wouldn't be right, would
it?" she said, doubtfully.
"There is nothing wrong about it," said the young man
candidly. "I'll introduce myself — permit me — Mr. Towers
Chandler. After our dinner, which I will try to make as pleasant as
possible, I will bid you good evening, or attend you safely to your
door, whichever you prefer."
"But, dear me!" said the girl, with a glance at Chandler's
faultless attire. "In this old dress and hat!"
"Never mind that," said Chandler, cheerfully. "I'm sure you
look more charming in them than any one we shall see in the most
elaborate dinner toilette."
"My ankle does hurt yet," admitted the girl, attempting a
limping step. "I think I will accept your invitation, Mr. Chandler. You
may call me — Miss Marian."
"Come then, Miss Marian," said the young architect, gaily, but
with perfect courtesy; "you will not have far to walk. There is a very
respectable and good restaurant in the next block. You will have to
lean on my arm — so — and walk slowly. It is lonely dining all by
one's self. I'm just a little bit glad that you slipped on the ice."
When the two were established at a well-appointed table, with a
promising waiter hovering in attendance, Chandler began to
experience the real joy that this regular outing always brought to him.
The restaurant was not so showy or pretentious as the one
further down Broadway, which he always preferred, but it was nearly
so. The tables were well filled with prosperous-looking diners, there
was a good orchestra, playing softly enough to make conversation a
possible pleasure, and the cuisine and service were beyond criticism.
His companion, even in her cheap hat and dress, held herself with an
air that added distinction to the natural beauty of her face and figure.
And it is certain that she looked at Chandler, with his animated but
self-possessed manner and his kindling and frank blue eyes, with
something not far from admiration in her own charming face.
Then it was that the Madness of Manhattan, the Frenzy of Fuss
1
and Feathers , the Bacillus of Brag, the Provincial Plague of Pose
seized upon Towers Chandler. He was on Broadway, surrounded by
pomp and style, and there were eyes to look at him. On the stage of

1
Fuss and Feathers: bustle and finery