ppened so quickly that I had hardly seen how dark his eyes
were before father thrust between us, and I heard his voice, sounding
very low, and saying something about infernal impudence and not
presuming to come near me. The policeman touched the dark man's elbow.
He started, half-turned on the man, made a movement with his hands; but
then he felt the jerk of the chain. The blood rushed to his face.
With the policeman holding his arm he walked away across the room, and
I wondered what sort of place he was being taken to. It wasn't until
the door had closed upon him that I realized how angry father was. Mr.
Dingley was saying that prisoners ought not to be permitted to speak
without permission, but the Chief leaned over his desk, smiling at me,
and asked, "What did the prisoner say to you?"

"He apologized for frightening me," I answered.

Still smiling, as if he were coaxing a child, "Exactly what words did
he use, Miss Fenwick?"

I could have repeated them exactly, but I hesitated, for the last words
he had let slip had sounded oddly in my mind--"If I had known you were
there I should have managed it differently." He seemed to make himself
so absolutely responsible for what had happened! And when I thought
how Mr. Dingley had twisted my words about I was afraid--afraid that if
I repeated the ones that this man had spoken they would somehow get
twisted into a meaning--perhaps not the true one--that would be bad for
him. I was so upset, I said, and so startled by the man's speaking to
me at all I hardly thought I could repeat them word for word.

Father put my coat around me and said, "I hope that is all," very
coldly.

"Yes," the Chief said, "except that this young lady must understand
that she is not to speak of what she saw this morning."

"Remember, Ellie," father said, "if your friends talk to you about it,
you have heard and seen nothing."

I murmured, "Of course," and followed father out of the prison with a
very strong conviction that nothing was real.

As we walked home again all the familiar surroundings seemed dreamlike
to me--the Plaza, with its high iron railing, and the shops facing upon
it, and our own green palm farther up the street, fluttering on the
sky. Father himself, so silent and walking on without ever turning his
head to look at me, seemed quite a different person from the father who
had gone with me the day before, merrily, to buy my bracelet. The
thought of the man with the dar