And in the woman's fight there was this to help her: in the crowd that
had laughed, her startled eyes had seen one or two who did not
laugh--one or two there were whose faces were filled with pity and
with shame. Always, in the crowded cars, there was some one who tried
quietly to shield her from the press--some one who seemed to
understand. It was this that helped. These men who knew the value of
Ignorance kept the spark of her faith in men alive. The faith, without
which her dreams would be idle dreams, impossible of fulfillment, was
kept for her by those men who knew the value of Ignorance.

The woman went to her work the next morning with a heart that was
heavy with dread and nerves that were quivering with fear. The
brightness, the beauty, and the joy, of her womanhood, she felt to be
going from her as the sunshine goes under threatening clouds. The
blackness, the ugliness, and the sorrow, of life, she felt coming over
her as fog rolls in from the sea. The faith, trust, and hope, that is
the soul of womanhood was threatened by doubt, distrust, and despair.
The gentleness, sensitiveness, and delicacy, that is the heart of
womanhood was beset by coarseness, vulgarity, and rudeness. Could she
harden her woman heart, steel her woman nerves, and make coarse her
woman soul to withstand the things that she was forced to meet and
know? And if she could--what then--would she gain or lose thereby? For
the life of which she had dreamed, would she gain or lose?

It was nearly noon when a voice at her side said: "You are ill!"

It was a voice of authority but it was not at all unkind.

Turning, she looked up into his face and stammered a feeble denial.
No, she was not ill.