Di always dressed with deliberation and before a glass; Ellen, having finally decided, dressed quickly and did not delay at the mirror. How white seemed her arms and shoulders beside the black of her dress!
Lew sent for her, as he had said he would do; a cowardly, unoccupied cab called for her, such as had often sought Di at this door; and Ellen, after answering the driver's summons, drew on a coat and ran out. In another cab, a couple of blocks away, Lew was waiting. He changed to hers, and there she sat bareheaded beside Lew Alban.
Of course she never had worn a hat in the office, but it was different, bareheaded in a cab with a man looking at you; and, under her cloak, her shoulders were bare.
"You're pretty," Lew praised her. "By God, you're pretty."
He wanted to see her shoulders; he wanted to see her white skin. He pulled at her cloak. "Let's see your dress," he said. "Black," he approved. "I like black on you. By God, you're beautiful." And he looked down at her feet. "You've little feet," he said with satisfaction, "pretty little feet."
Her cheeks and shoulders and her toes in her slippers prickled, but not with fear; it was the excitement of power prickling her like pin points.
The car was on a boulevard caught in a current of cabs and chauffeur-driven limousines hired or bought and maintained by men for women. Within them were girls, and women, sought by men, courted and indulged by men. Ellen had glimpses of faces. She saw not a competent feminine face; with head and hands, these girls did and
