good girl. Although looks are often deceiving."

"I went there with him," says Fanny. And she points to a beetle-browed
citizen with an unshaven face. A quaint Don Juan, indeed.

"Ever see him before?"

A shake of the head. Plain case. And yet his honor hesitates. His honor
feels something expand in his breast. Perhaps he would like to rise and
holding forth his hand utter a famous plagiarism--"Go and sin no more." He
chews a pen and sighs, instead.

"I'll give you another chance," he says. "The next time it'll be jail.
Keep this in mind. If you're brought in again, no excuses will go. Call
the next case."

Now one can follow Fanny. She walks out of the courtroom. The street
swallows her. Nobody in the crowds knows what has happened. Fanny is
anybody now. Still, one may follow. Perhaps something will reveal itself,
something will add an illuminating touch to the incident of the courtroom.

There is only this. Fanny pauses in front of a drug-store window. The
crowds clutter by. Fanny stands looking, without interest, into the
window. There is a little mirror inside. The city tumbles by. The city is
interested in something vastly complicated.

Staring into the little mirror, Fanny sighs and--powders her nose.