Mildred congratulated herself on having conquered her timidity. She had come all the way down-town by herself, had looked through several stores until she found just the curtains she wanted; and now, ready to return home, she got on the 'bus as calmly as though she had been a New Yorker and a married woman all her life.

It being the rush hour of the afternoon, the conveyance was quite crowded. Mildred thought at first that she would have to sit on the backward-facing bench up front, which she disliked; but luckily she found a place on one of the seats opposite it. A moment later even the less-desirable bench was occupied.

The person who took the place on it directly facing her was a tall, dark man of about forty, with piercing black eyes and an aquiline nose. Mildred kept encountering his glance. There was something about it that disturbed her. She flushed a little.

His face seemed vaguely, uncomfortably familiar. Where had she seen him before? She was sure he wasn't anyone who had waited on her in a shop, nor any of the tradesmen who came to the door of her apartment: he looked too much the man of the world for that. Neither was he one of the few friends of her husband whom she had had a chance to meet. She could not place him. Happiness, and the absorption that goes with it, had made her oblivious of outside things.

Whoever he was, his glances rendered her more and more ill at ease. She looked out of the window, she looked up at the advertisements, she looked down at her lap. No use: she could feel his gaze.

In vain did she reason with herself that he was not staring at her intentionally, but was merely directing his eyes straight ahead of him, as anyone might do. No; not even the protecting presence of the other passengers could reassure her. She felt almost as though she and the hawk-like stranger were alone in the conveyance.

Several times she thought of getting out and taking another 'bus. But the evening was growing dark, and she might have to wait a long while in a part of town she knew nothing about. And suppose he should get off after her!

The blocks seemed hours apart, the halts at corners interminable. Passengers got out in twos and threes. He stayed.

Looking down at her hands, which nervously fingered the chain of her reticule, Mildred hoped and prayed he would go. But he did not.

The people who had shared the bench with him had moved to forward-facing seats as soon as any were vacant. He remained where he was.

It seemed she had seen that face somewhere—behind her, following her.

This recollection threw her into such a fit of trembling that she let fall her handkerchief. Before she could recover it, he bent forward with a quick swooping motion, seized it in his long fingers, and held it out to her. She took it trembling, hardly able to murmur, "Thank you".

He appeared about to speak.

Mildred rose in terror and retreated hastily to a place several seats back, across the aisle.

What would he do? Would he follow her? Were his eyes still fixed upon her? She dared not look; but a reflection in the window pane increased her fears.

Street after street went by. The last other passenger got off. Still he stayed. Mildred's furtive observations via the reflecting window pane never found him looking out to ascertain what part of town it was. Gradually she was forced to the sickening conviction that he was watching, not for any particular street, but to see where she would get off.

As her corner approached, she rang the bell. He rose. She moved quickly to the door. He followed her, smiling presumingly.

As she stepped down from the platform, her knees were so weak that she almost fell. Her heart pounded. Instead of running, as her terror prompted her to, she could with difficulty maintain a panting walk.

The man followed—not hurrying, but relentlessly, like an animal that is sure of its prey.

When she entered the doorway of the apartment house, he was barely ten yards behind her. She knew he would turn in also. He did.

If only she could get into the elevator and escape before he arrived!

The car was at one of the upper floors. She rang desperately until it appeared. The instant the iron door slid back, she flung herself in, gasping:

"Quick! Take me up quickly!"

"Yes, miss," replied the startled but drowsy elevator boy—as a tall form passed in after her. Mildred shrank into a corner, quivering.

"Fou'th flo'," announced the boy.

She sprang out. As she staggered totteringly down the dim corridor, she heard the man step out of the car.

Her latch key! Her latch key! She fumbled frantically in her handbag; then groped for the lock.

The man drew nearer.

She was helpless, cornered at the end of a dark hallway. Almost hysterical she let the key fall and closed her eyes.

At that moment the door opposite was unlocked briskly, and a lusty young voice inside yelled: "Hello, Pappa!"