"Oh, what is it?" Annesley entreated, running after the couple.

"Burglars at a jeweller's window close by--there are women--they're being
arrested," one of the pair flung over her shoulder, as both hurried on.

"'Women ... being arrested ...'" That meant that if she plunged into the
fray she might be mistaken for a woman burglar, and arrested with the
guilty. Even if she lurked where she was, a prowling policeman might
suppose she sought concealment, and bag her as a militant.

Imagine what Mrs. Ellsworth would say--and _do_--if she were taken off to
jail!

Annesley's heart seemed to drop out of its place, to go "crossways," as
her old Irish nurse used to say a million years ago.

Without stopping to think again, or even to breathe, she flew back to the
hotel entrance, as a migrating bird follows its leader, and slipped
through the revolving door behind the fugitives.

"It's fate," she thought. "This must be a _sign_ coming just when I'd
made up my mind."

Suddenly she was no longer afraid, though her heart was pounding under
the thin cloak. Fragrance of hot-house flowers and expensive perfume from
women's dresses intoxicated the girl as a glass of champagne forced upon
one who has never tasted wine flies to the head. She felt herself on the
tide of adventure, moving because she must; the soul which would have
fled, to return to Mrs. Ellsworth, was a coward not worthy to live in her
body.