It was eleven; and for half an hour the theatres had been
releasing their audiences to the streets;--the sidewalks were
bobbing and fluttering; automobiles cometed by bleating
peevishly. Suddenly, through the window of a limousine,
brilliantly lighted within, Canby saw the face of Wanda Malone,
laughing, and embowered in white furs. He stopped, startled;
then he realized that Wanda Malone's hair was not red. The girl
in the limousine had red hair, and was altogether unlike Wanda
Malone in feature and expression.
He walked on angrily.
Immediately a slender girl, prettily dressed, passed him. She
clung charmingly to the arm of a big boy; and to Canby's first
glance she was Wanda Malone. Wrenching his eyes from her, he saw
Wanda Malone across the street getting into a taxicab, and then
he stumbled out of the way of a Wanda Malone who almost walked
into him. Wherever there was a graceful gesture or turn of the
head, there was Wanda Malone.
He wheeled, and walked back toward Broadway, and thought he caught a
glimpse of Packer going into a crowded drug-store near the corner.
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