where she was, alarmed lest her mother might come in
and find her there, she left the sofa, turned out the sputtering lamp,
and ran into the bedroom. Rain was splashing on the bricks of the
passage-way outside, the shadows of the night still lurked in the
corners; by the grey light she gazed at Lise, who breathed loudly and
stirred uneasily, her mouth open, her lips parched. Janet touched her.

"Lise--get up!" she said. "It's time to get up." She shook her.

"Leave me alone--can't you?"

"It's time to get up. The whistle has sounded."

Lise heavily opened her eyes. They were bloodshot.

"I don't want to get up. I won't get up."

"But you must," insisted Janet, tightening her hold. "You've got
to--you've got to eat breakfast and go to work."

"I don't want any breakfast, I ain't going to work any more."

A gust of wind blew inward the cheap lace curtains, and the physical
effect of it emphasized the chill that struck Janet's heart. She got up
and closed the window, lit the gas, and returning to the bed, shook Lise
again.

"Listen," she said, "if you don't get up I'll tell mother what happened
last night."

"Say, you wouldn't--!" exclaimed Lise, angrily.

"Get up!" Janet commanded, and watched her rather anxiously, uncertain as
to the after effects of drunkenness. But Lise got up. She sat on the edge
of the bed and yawned, putting her hand to her forehead.

"I've sure got a head on me," she remarked.

Janet was silent, angrier than ever, shocked that tragedy, degradation,
could be accepted thus circumstantially. Lise proceeded to put up her
hair. She seemed to be mistress of herself; only tired, gaping
frequently. Once she remarked:--"I don't see the good of getting nutty
over a highball."

Seeing that Janet was not to be led into controversy, she grew morose.

Breakfast in Fillmore Street, never a lively meal, was more dismal than
usual that morning, eaten to the accompaniment of slopping water from the
roofs on the pavement of the passage. The indisposition of Lise passed
unobserved by both Hannah and Edward; and at twenty minutes to eight the
two girls, with rubbers and umbrellas, left the house together, though it
was Janet's custom to depart earlier, since she had farther to go. Lise,
suspicious, maintained an obstinate silence, keeping close to the curb.
They reached the corner by the provision shop with the pink and orange
chromos of jellies in the window.

"Lise, has anything happened to you?"