``The girl that helps Victor Dorn?'' said Davy, astonished.
``What's SHE coming HERE for? You don't know her--do you?''

``Don't you?'' evaded Jane. ``I thought you and Mr. Dorn were
such pals.''

``Pals?'' laughed Hull. ``Hardly that. We meet now and then at
a workingman's club I'm interested in--and at a cafe' where I
go to get in touch with the people occasionally--and in the
street. But I never go to his office. I couldn't afford to do
that. And I've never seen Miss Gordon.''

``Well, she's worth seeing,'' said Jane. ``You'll never see
another like her.''

They rose and watched her advancing. To the usual person,
acutely conscious of self, walking is not easy in such
circumstances. But Selma, who never bothered about herself, came
on with that matchless steady grace which peasant girls often get
through carrying burdens on the head. Jane called out:

``So, you've come, after all.''

Selma smiled gravely. Not until she was within a few feet of the
steps did she answer: ``Yes--but on business.'' She was wearing
the same linen dress. On her head was a sailor hat, beneath the
brim of which her amazingly thick hair stood out in a kind of
defiance. This hat, this further article of Western
civilization's dress, added to the suggestion of the absurdity of
such a person in such clothing. But in her strange Cossack way