seemed quite deaf. He spoke; he called her
"girlie" (the scamp!). She walked the faster; so did he. He protested
she should not walk home alone; she stopped; she spoke, "Will you please
allow me to walk home in peace?"

But, no, that was just what he would not do, and suddenly she answered,
"Very well, then, I accept your escort, though under protest."

[Illustration: _Clara Morris in "Evadne"_]

Surprised, he walked at her side. The way was long, the silence grew
painful. He ventured to suggest supper as they passed a restaurant; she
gently declined. At last she stopped directly beneath a gas-lamp, and
from her face, with sorrow-hollowed eyes and temples, where everyone of
her seventy-six years had been stamped in cruel line and crease and
wrinkle, she lifted up the veil and raised her sad old eyes
reproachfully to his. He staggered back, turned red, turned white,
stammered, took off his hat, attempted to apologize, then turned and
fled.

"And what," I asked, "did you say to him?"

"Say, say," she repeated; "justice need not be cruel. Why add anything
to the sight of this?" and she drew a finger down her withered cheek.

'Twas said with laughing bitterness, for she had been very fair, and
well guarded, too, in the distant past; while then I could but catch her
tired hands and kiss them, in a burst of pity that this ancient
gentlewoman might not walk in peace through the city streets because
fate had left her without a protector.

Appeal to the police, I think some one says. Of course, if he is about;
but recall that famous old recipe of Mrs. Glass beginning, "First catch
your hare and then--" so, just catch your policeman. But believe me,
they rarely appear together,--your tormentor of women and your
policeman,--unless, indeed, the former is stupidly in liquor; and then
what good if he is arrested? shame will prevent you from appearing
against him. Silence and speed, therefore, are generally the best
defensive weapons of the frightened, lonely girl.

Once through fright, fatigue, and shame I lost all self-control, and
turning to the creature whom I could not outwalk, I cried out with a
sob, "Oh, I am so tired, so frightened, and so ashamed; you make me wish
that I were dead!" And to my amazement, he answered gruffly, "It's a
pity _I'm_ not," and disappeared in the dark side street.

After an actress has married and has a protector to see her safely home
nights, she is apt to recall and to tell amusing stories