"Rough with you, was I?" he whispered, shaking her. "Rough with you? You'll like it."
She arose and retreated from him, staring at him. She had had no idea of what it would be; but it was over; she'd done it. She'd not dodged.
To whom had she said that? Jay; Jay, of course. "You'll not dodge Lew Alban," she'd said and sent him to the train. So he'd not dodged and she hadn't. No, she'd not dodged Lew Alban.
He was talking to her but she did not know what he said. Someone entered Mr. Rountree's room; it was Jay, returning for Lew. She could not meet him. She let Lew go out to him; neither sent for her, so she stayed, shut in, until they were gone; then, snatching her hat and coat, she escaped.
It was clear and cool on the street. The breeze, what there was, blew from the lake so that the haze and smoke of the day was swept westward. The walk was crowded; the boulevard was a four-span stream of cars southward, a reverse stream of four span beyond. The shop windows were alight with a show illumination which dimmed the clusters of street lamps and drew, like moths to a flame, female passersby.
Ellen halted beside a group looking in at dresses; at gowns, indeed, of silk and velvet and handwork, beautiful and extravagant. Ellen stopped and stared, she did not see. With the back of her glove on her little, tightclenched fist she rubbed and rubbed at her lips which Lew Alban had kissed. Her shoulders quivered as under the grasp of his hands.
She seemed to hear his voice, speaking to her, and
