he was aware of a newly acquired mastery of the situation, and by a
hidden and unconscious process he had managed to get at the real woman
behind the paint: had beaten down, as it were without a siege, her
defences. And he was incomparably awed by the sight of her quivering,
frightened self.

Her weeping grew more violent. He saw the people at the next table turn
and stare, heard the men laughing harshly. For the spectacle was
evidently not an uncommon one here. She pushed away her unfinished
glass, gathered up her velvet bag and rose abruptly.

"I guess I ain't hungry after all," she said, and started toward the
door. He turned to the waiter, who regarded him unmoved, and asked for a
check.

"I'll get it," he said.

Hodder drew out a ten dollar bill, and told him to keep the change. The
waiter looked at him. Some impulse moved him to remark, as he picked up
the rector's hat:

"Don't let her put it over you, sir."

Hodder scarcely heard him. He hurried up the steps and gained the
pavement, and somewhere in the black shadows beyond the arc-lights he saw
her disappearing down the street. Careless of all comment he hastened
on, overtook her, and they walked rapidly side by side. Now and again he
heard a sob, but she said nothing. Thus they came to the house where the
Garvins had lived, and passed it, and stopped in front of the dimly
lighted vestibule of the flats next door. In drawing the key from her