stopping her--the suggestion of a confidence-giving prosperity.

"You look as if you needed a drink, too," said he. "How about
it, lady with the lovely feet?"

For the first time in her life she was feeling on an equality
with man. She gave him the same candidly measuring glance that
man gives man. She saw good-nature, audacity without
impudence--at least not the common sort of impudence. She
smiled merrily, glad of the chance to show her delight that she
was once more back in civilization after the long sojourn in
the prison workshops where it is manufactured. She said:

"A drink? Thank you--yes."

"That's a superior quality of smile you've got there," said he.
"That, and those nice slim feet of yours ought to win for you
anywhere. Let's go to the Martin."

"Down University Place?"

The stout young man pointed his slender cane across the street.
"You must have been away."

"Yes," said the girl. "I've been--dead."

"I'd like to try that myself--if I could be sure of coming to
life in little old New York." And he looked round with
laughing eyes as if the lights, the crowds, the champagne-like
air intoxicated him.

At the first break in the thunderous torrent of traffic they
crossed Broadway and went in at the Twenty-sixth Street
entrance. The restaurant, to the left, was empty. Its little
tables were ready, however, for the throng of diners soon to
come. Susan had difficulty in restraining herself. She was
almost delirious with delight. She was agitated almost to
tears by the freshness, the sparkle in the glow of the
red-shaded candles, in the colors and odors of the flowers
decorating every table. While she had been down there all this
had been up here--waiting for her! Why had she stayed down
there? But then, why had she gone? What folly, what madness!
To suffer such horrors for no reason--beyond some vague,
clinging remnant of a superstition--or had it been just plain
insanity? "Yes, I've been crazy--out of my head. The break
with--Rod--upset my mind."

Her companion took her into the cafe to the right. He seated
her on one of the leather benches not far from the door, seated
himself in a chair opposite; there was a narrow marble-topped
table between them. On Susan's right sat a too conspicuously
dressed but somehow important looking actress; on her left, a
shopkeeper's fat wife. Opposite each woman sat the sort of man
one would expect to find with her. The face of the actress'