she expect him to realize? and her imagination
conjured up the situation in a new perspective. Her sobs gradually
ceased, and presently she stopped in the middle of the road and regarded
him. He seemed utterly miserable, like a hurt child whom she longed to
comfort. But what she said was:--"I ought to be going home."

"Not yet!" he begged. "It's early. You say I don't understand you,
Janet--my God, I wish I did! It breaks me all up to see you cry like
that."

"I'm sorry," she said, after a moment. "I--I can't make you understand. I
guess I'm not like anybody else I'm queer--I can't help it. You must let
me go, I only make you unhappy."

"Let you go!" he cried--and then in utter self-forgetfulness she yielded
her lips to his. A sound penetrated the night, she drew back from his
arms and stood silhouetted against the glare of the approaching headlight
of a trolley car, and as it came roaring down on them she hailed it.
Ditmar seized her arm.

"You're not going--now?" he said hoarsely.

"I must," she whispered. "I want to be alone--I want to think. You must
let me."

"I'll see you to-morrow?"

"I don't know--I want to think. I'm--I'm tired."

The brakes screamed as the car came joltingly to a stop. She flew up the
steps, glancing around to see whether Ditmar had followed her, and saw
him still standing in the road. The car was empty of passengers, but the
conductor must have seen her leaving a man in this lonely spot. She
glanced at his face, white and pinched and apathetic--he must have seen
hundreds of similar episodes in the course of his nightly duties. He was
unmoved as he took her fare. Nevertheless, at the thought that these
other episodes might resemble hers, her face flamed--she grew hot all
over. What should she do now? She could not think. Confused with her
shame was the memory of a delirious joy, yet no sooner would she give
herself up, trembling, to this memory when in turn it was penetrated by
qualms of resentment, defiling its purity. Was Ditmar ashamed of her?...
When she reached home and had got into bed she wept a little, but her
tears were neither of joy nor sorrow. Her capacity for both was
exhausted. In this strange mood she fell asleep nor did she waken when,
at midnight, Lise stealthily crept in beside her.

CHAPTER X

Ditmar stood staring after the trolley car that bore Janet away until it
became a tiny speck of light in the distance. Then he started to walk
toward Hampton; in the