* * * * *

Once secure from the public gaze, the girl crowded back into a corner
of the cab, as though trying to efface herself. Her eyes closed almost
automatically; the curve of laughing lips became a doleful droop; a crinkle
appeared between the arched brows; waves of burning crimson flooded her
face and throat.

In her lap both hands lay clenched into tiny fists--clenched so tightly
that it hurt, numbing her fingers: a physical pain that, somehow, helped
her to endure the paroxysms of shame. That she should have stooped so
low!...

Presently the fingers relaxed, and her whole frame relaxed in sympathy. The
black squall had passed over; but now were the once tranquil waters ruffled
and angry. Then languor gripped her like an enemy: she lay listless in its
hold, sick and faint with disgust of self.

This was her all-sufficient punishment: to have done what she had done, to
be about to do what she contemplated. For she had set her hand to the plow:
there must now be no drawing back, however hateful might prove her task....

The voice of the cabby dropping through the trap, roused her. "This is the
Martha Washington, ma'am."

Mechanically she descended from the hansom and paid her fare; then,
summoning up all her strength and resolution, passed into the lobby of the
hotel and paused at the telephone switchboard.