rice of her soul;
the policeman on the pavement, who would never think of protecting her;
and the whole hideous city which benignly profited by saloons. She
watched another couple down at the end of the room--an obese man and a
young, pretty girl, who was hysterically drunk. Not because she had
attended the Women's Christian Temperance Union at Panama and heard them
condemn "the demon rum," but because the sickish smell of the alcohol
was all about her now, she suddenly turned into a crusader. She sprang
up, seized her gloves, snapped, "I will not touch the stuff." She
marched down the room, out of the restaurant and away, not once looking
back at Phil.

In about fifteen seconds she had a humorous picture of Phil trying to
rush after her, but stopped by the waiter to pay his check. She began to
wonder if she hadn't been slightly ridiculous in attempting to slay
Demon Rum by careering down the restaurant. But "I don't care!" she
said, stoutly. "I'm glad I took a stand instead of just rambling along
and wondering what it was all about, the way I did with Walter."

Phil caught up to her and instantly began to complain. "Say, you
certainly made a sight out of yourself--and out of me--leaving me
sitting there with the waiter laughing his boob head off at me. Lord!
I'll never dare go near the place again."

"Your own fault." This problem was so clear, so unconfused to her.

"It wasn't all my fault," he said. "You didn't have to take a drink."
His voice fell to a pathetic whimper. "I was showing you hospitality the
best way I knew how. You won't never know how you hurt my feelin's."

The problem instantly became complicated again. Perhaps she _had_ hurt
his rudimentary sense of courtesy. Perhaps Walter Babson would have
sympathized with Phil, not with her. She peeped at Phil. He trailed
along with a forlorn baby look which did not change.

She was very uncomfortable as she said a brief good-night at the flat.
She half wished that he would give her a chance to recant. She saw him
and his injured feelings as enormously important.

She undressed in a tremor of misgiving. She put her thin, pretty kimono
over her nightgown, braided her hair, and curled on the bed, condemning
herself for having been so supercilious to the rat who had never had a
chance.

It was late--long after eleven--when there was a tapping on the door.

She started, listened rigidly.

Phil's voice whispered from the hall: "Open your door just half an