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Until a week before Christmas George worked in the station restaurant at the lunch counter. The last week was extraordinarily cold, then the sun shone strongly for a few days, though it was always cold again in the evenings. There were three other men working at the counter. For years they must have had a poor reputation. Women, unless they were careless and easygoing, never started a conversation with them when having a light lunch at noontime. The girls at the station always avoided the red-capped porters and the countermen.

George, who was working there till he got enough money to go back home for a week and then start late in the year at college, was a young fellow with fine hair retreating far back on his forehead and rather bad upper teeth, but he was very polite and generous. Steve, the plump Italian, with the waxed black moustaches, who had charge of the restaurant, was very fond of George.

Many people passed the restaurant window on the way to the platform and the trains. The four men, watching them frequently, got to know some of them. Girls, brightly dressed and highly powdered, loitered in front of the open door, smiling at George, who saw them so often he knew their first names. At noontime, other girls, with a few minutes to spare before going back to work, used to walk up and down the tiled tunnel to the waiting room, loafing the time away, but they never even glanced in at the countermen. It was cold outside, the streets were slippery, and it was warm in the station, that was all. George got to know most of these girls too, and talked about them with the other fellows.

George watched carefully one girl every day at noon hour. The other men had also noticed her, and two or three times she came in for a cup of coffee, but she was so gentle, and aloofly pleasant, and so unobtrusively beyond them, they were afraid to try and amuse her with easy cheerful talk. George wished earnestly that she had never seen him there in the restaurant behind the counter, even though he knew she had never noticed him at all. Her cheeks were usually rosy from the cold wind outside. When she went out the door to walk up and down for a few minutes, an agreeable expression on her face, she never once looked back at the restaurant. George, following her with his eye while pouring coffee slowly, did not expect her to look back. She was about twenty-eight, pretty, rather shy, and dressed plainly and poorly in a thin blue cloth coat without any fur on it. Most girls managed to have a piece of fur of some kind on their coats.

With little to do in the middle of the afternoon, George used to think of her because of seeing her every day and looking at her face in profile when she passed the window. Then, on the day she had on the light-fawn felt hat, she smiled politely at him, when having a cup of coffee, and as long as possible, he remained opposite her, cleaning the counter with a damp cloth.

The last night he worked at the station he went out at about half past eight in the evening, for he had an hour to himself, and then worked on till ten o’clock. In the morning he was going home, so he walked out of the station and down the side street to the docks, and was having only pleasant thoughts, passing the warehouses, looking out over the dark cold lake and liking the tang of the wind on his face. Christmas was only a week away. The snow was falling lazily and melting slowly when it hit the sidewalk. He was glad he was through with the job at the restaurant.

An hour later, back at the restaurant, Steve said, “A dame just phoned you, George, and left her number.”

“Do you know who she was?”

“No, you got too many girls, George. Don’t you know the number?”

“I never saw it before.”

He called the number and did not recognize the voice that answered him. A woman was asking him pleasantly enough if he remembered her. He said he did not. She said she had had a cup of coffee that afternoon at noontime, and added that she had worn a blue coat and a tan-coloured felt hat, and even though she had not spoken to him, she thought he would remember her.

“Good Lord,” he said.

She wanted to know if he would come and see her at half past ten that evening. Timidly he said he would, and hardly heard her giving the address. Steve and the other boys started to kid him brightly, but he was too astonished, wondering how she had found out his name, to bother with them. The boys, saying goodbye to him later, winked and elbowed him in the ribs, urging him to celebrate on his last night in the city. Steve, who was very fond of him, shook his head sadly and pulled the ends of his moustaches down into his lips.

The address the girl had given him was only eight blocks away, so he walked, holding his hands clenched tightly in his pockets, for he was cold from nervousness. He was watching the automobile headlights shining on slippery spots on the sidewalk. The house, opposite a public school ground on a side street, was a large old rooming house. A light was in a window on the second storey over the door. Ringing the bell he didn’t really expect anyone to answer, and was surprised when the girl herself opened the door.

“Good evening,” he said shyly.

“Oh, come upstairs,” she said, smiling and practical.

In the front room he took off his overcoat and hat and sat down slowly, noticing, out of the corner of his eye, that she was even slimmer, and had nice fair hair and lovely eyes. But she was moving very nervously. He had intended to ask at once how she found out his name, but forgot about it as soon as she sat down opposite him on a camp bed and smiled shyly. She had on a red woollen sweater, fitting her tightly at the waist. Twice he shook his head, unable to get used to having her there opposite him, nervous and expectant. The trouble was she had always seemed so aloof.

“You’re not very friendly,” she said awkwardly.

“Oh yes I am. Indeed I am.”

“Why don’t you come over here and sit beside me?”

Slowly he sat down beside her on the camp bed, smiling stupidly. He was even slow to see that she was waiting for him to put his arms around her. Ashamed of himself, he finally kissed her eagerly and she held on to him tightly. Her heart was thumping underneath the red woollen sweater. She just kept on holding him, almost savagely, closing her eyes slowly and breathing deeply every time he kissed her. She was so delighted and satisfied to hold him in her arms that she did not bother talking at all. Finally he became very eager and she got up suddenly, walking up and down the room, looking occasionally at the cheap alarm clock on a bureau. The room was clean but poorly furnished.

“What’s the matter?” he said irritably.

“My girlfriend, the one I room with, will be home in twenty minutes.”

“Come here anyway.”

“Please sit down, please do,” she said.

Slowly she sat down beside him. When he kissed her she did not object, but her lips were dry, her shoulders were trembling, and she kept on watching the clock. Though she was holding his wrist so tightly her nails dug into the skin, he knew she would be glad when he had to go. He kissed her again and she drew her left hand slowly over her lips.

“You really must be out of here before Irene comes home,” she said.

“But I’ve only kissed and hugged you and you’re wonderful.” He noticed the red ring mark on her finger. “Are you sure you’re not waiting for your husband to come home?” he said a bit irritably.

Frowning, looking away vaguely, she said, “Why do you have to say that?”

“There’s a ring mark on your finger.”

“I can’t help it,” she said, and began to cry quietly. “Yes, oh yes, I’m waiting for my husband to come home. He’ll be here at Christmas.”

“It’s too bad. Can’t we do something about it?”

“I tell you I love my husband. I do, I really do, and I’m faithful to him too.”

“Maybe I’d better go,” he said uncomfortably, feeling ridiculous.

“Eh, what’s that? My husband, he’s at a sanitarium. He got his spine hurt in the war, then he got tuberculosis. He’s pretty bad. They’ve got to carry him around. We want to love each other every time we meet, but we can’t.”

“That’s tough, poor kid, and I suppose you’ve got to pay for him.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have many fellows?”

“No. I don’t want to have any.”

“Do they come here to see you?”

“No. No, I don’t know what got into me. I liked you, and felt a little crazy.”

“I’ll slide along then. What’s your first name?”

“Lola. You’d better go now.”

“Couldn’t I see you again?” he said suddenly.

“No, you’re going away tomorrow,” she said, smiling confidently.

“So you’ve got it all figured out. Supposing I don’t go?”

“Please, you must.”

Her arms were trembling when she held his overcoat. She wanted him to go before Irene came home. “You didn’t give me much time,” he said flatly.

“No. Irene comes in at this time. You’re a lovely boy. Kiss me.”

“You had that figured out too.”

“Just kiss and hold me once more, George.” She held on to him as if she did not expect to be embraced again for a long time, and he said, “I think I’ll stay in the city awhile longer.”

“It’s too bad, but you’ve got to go. We can’t see each other again.”

In the poorly lighted hall she looked lovely. Her cheeks were flushed, and though still eager, she was quite satisfied with the whole affair. Everything had gone perfectly for her.

As he went out the door and down the walk to the street he remembered that he hadn’t asked how she had found out his name. Snow was falling lightly and there were hardly any footprints on the sidewalk. All he could think of was that he ought to go back to the restaurant and ask Steve for his job again. Steve was fond of him. But he knew he could not spoil it for her. “She had it all figured out,” he muttered, turning up his coat collar.