did a surprising thing. She elbowed her way to the edge of
the crowd, past the red-faced man with the cigar, out to the
street, and fell into line, and marched on up the street,
shoulders squared, head high.

Fanny glanced down at her watch. It was quarter after four.
With a little gasp she turned to work her way through the
close-packed crowd. It was an actual physical struggle,
from which she emerged disheveled, breathless, uncomfortably
warm, and minus her handkerchief, but she had gained the
comparative quiet of the side street, and she made the short
distance that lay between the Avenue and her hotel a matter
of little more than a minute. In the hotel corridor stood
Ella and Fenger, the former looking worried, the latter
savage.

"Where in the world--" began Ella.

"Caught in the jam. And I didn't want to get out. It was--
it was--glorious!" She was shaking hands with Fenger, and
realizing for the first time that she must be looking
decidedly sketchy and that she had lost her handkerchief.
She fished for it in her bag, hopelessly, when Fenger
released her hand. He had not spoken. Now he said:

"What's the matter with your eyes?"

"I've been crying," Fanny confessed cheerfully.

"Crying!"