last. You're going home to those
that love you."

"Not to-night--not while I'm looking like this. Don't take me home
to-night," she begged. "I can't stand it yet. Give me to-night, please.
I..."

She trembled like an aspen. Jeff could see she was exhausted, in deadly
fear, ready to give way to any wild impulse that might seize her. To
reason with her would do no good and might do much harm. He must humor
her fancy about not going home at once. But he could not take her to a
rooming house and leave her alone while her mind was in this condition.
She must be watched, protected against herself. Otherwise in the morning
she might be gone.

"All right. You may have my rooms. Here's the cab."

Jeff helped her in, thanked Marchant with a word, got in himself,
and shut the door. They were driven through streets shining with rain
beneath the light clusters. Nellie crouched in a corner and wept. As
they swung down Powers Avenue they passed motor car after motor car
filled with gay parties returning from the theaters. He glimpsed young
women in furs, wrapped from the cruelty of life by the caste system in
which wealth had incased them. Once a ripple of merry laughter floated
to him across the gulf that separated this girl from them.

A year ago her laughter had been light as theirs. Life had been a thing
beautiful, full of color. She had come to it eagerly, like a lover, glad
because it was so good.

But it had not been good to her. By the cluster lights he could see how
fearfully it had mauled her, how cruelly its irony had kissed hollows in
her young cheeks. All the bloom of her was gone, all the brave pride and
joy of youth--gone beyond hope of resurrection. Why must such things
be? Why so much to the few, so little to the many? And why should that
little be taken away? He saw as in a vision the infinite procession of
her hopeless sisters who had traveled the same road, saw them first
as sweet and carefree children bubbling with joy, and again, after
the _World_ had misused them for its pleasure, haggard, tawdry, with
dragging steps trailing toward the oblivion that awaited them. Good God,
how long must life be so terribly wasted? How long a bruised and broken
thing instead of the fine, brave adventure for which it was meant?

Across his mind flashed Realf's words:

"Amen!" I have cried in battle-time,
When my beautiful heroes perished;
The earth of the Lord shall bloom sublime
By the blood of his