"But to-morrow?" he pleaded. "You'll let me see you to-morrow, when
you've had time to think it over, when you realize that I love you and
want you, that I haven't meant to be cruel--that you've misjudged me
--thought I was a different kind of a man. I don't blame you for that, I
guess something happened to make you believe it. I've got enemies. For
the sake of the child, Janet, if for nothing else, you'll come back to
me! You're--you're tired tonight, you're not yourself. I don't wonder,
after all you've been through. If you'd only come to me before! God knows
what I've suffered, too!"

"Let me go, please," she repeated, and this time, despairingly, he obeyed
her, a conviction of her incommunicability overwhelming him. He turned
and, fumbling with the key, unlocked the door and opened it. "I'll see
you to-morrow," he faltered once more, and watched her as she went
through the darkened outer room until she gained the lighted hallway
beyond and disappeared. Her footsteps died away into silence. He was
trembling. For several minutes he stood where she had left him, tortured
by a sense of his inability to act, to cope with this, the great crisis
of his life, when suddenly the real significance of that strange last
look in her eyes was borne home to him. And he had allowed her to go out
into the streets alone! Seizing his hat and coat, he fairly ran out of
the office and down the stairs and across the bridge.

"Which way did that young lady go?" he demanders of the sergeant.

"Why--uh, West Street, Mr. Ditmar."

He remembered where Fillmore Street was; he had, indeed, sought it out
one evening in the hope of meeting her. He hurried toward it now, his
glance strained ahead to catch sight of her figure under a lamp. But he