hing. He
would know--she would hasten to him and get his aid. That at least she
could do.

Now and then a bitter sob escaped her. She felt that she had lost her
self-respect and her pride. Like a coward she had watched Rhona
attacked, had not even raised her voice, had not, even attempted
interference. They might have listened to a well-dressed woman, a woman
of refinement. And she had done nothing--just followed the crowd,
nursing her wounded pride. She began to feel that the world was a big
place, and that those without money or position are at the mercy of the
powerful. She began to revise her opinion of America, more keenly than
ever she understood Joe's passion for more democracy. And she had a
sense, too, that she had never really known life--that her narrow
existence had touched life at but a few minor points--and that the great
on-struggle of the world, the vast life of the race, the million-eddying
evolution were all outside her limits. Now she was feeling the edge of
new existences. The knowledge humbled, almost humiliated her. She
wondered that Joe had ever thought well of her, had ever been content to
share his life with her.

Driven by these thoughts and by her fear and her apprehension for
Rhona's safety, she plunged west, borne by the wind, buffeted, beaten,
blown along. The lights behind the French windows were like beacons in a
storm. She staggered into the hall, entered the room. Her hair was wild
about her face, her cheeks pale, her eyes burning.

The room was still crowded, intensely busy. She noticed nothing, but
pushed her way to Joe's desk. He was talking with two girls.

She confronted him.

"Joe!"

He lifted his gray, tragic face, amazed.

"You still here?"

It was as if he had forgotten her. But Myra was not now thinking of
herself. She spoke, breathlessly:

"Joe, I think Rhona Hemlitz is in trouble."

"How so?"

"She was knocked down by a thug, and she had him arrested, but I'm
afraid _she's_ arrested."

A dangerous light came into Joe's eyes.

"All right! All right! Where did this happen?"

"On Great Jones Street."

"Well and good," he muttered.

"But isn't there anything to do?" cried Myra.

"Why, if she's not arrested, she'll come here and report, and if she
doesn't come I'll go over to the Night Court at nine this evening."

"I must go with you," cried Myra.

"You?" He looked at her, and then suddenly he asked: "But how did you
come to hear of this?"

"I was pi