In and out of the Tombs, she walked for the next few weeks. Judge Ryan, before whom she tried her case, and who believed that all women should marry and keep indoors as soon after eighteen as a man would have them, was mightily exercised over her invasion. "Damn her soul, Whitman," he said, "she isn’t a woman—she’s just brain and voice. She sits there before the court opens and looks like a woman—good-looking woman at that—then she gets up on her hind legs and talks. Hell! I forget she is a woman—forget she wears skirts. And, so help me God, there aren’t a dozen men in the building who know as much law as she does. She’s got the goods. That’s the devil of it. You can’t snub her. You can’t treat her the way she deserves. You want to call her unwomanly and she won’t let you remember she’s a woman." She had made Ryan, facing her from the bench, feel the same aloofness, she had impressed on me across the table at Philippe’s. But if the judge found it impossible to snub her, it was just as impossible, I found, to be friendly with her. We had frequent encounters in the corridors. I frankly sought them, and she did so as frankly—when she wanted some information. Away from her, I thought of her as a desirable woman. Face to face, she forced me to consider her as a serious minded socialist. Aside from the details of her case, we had only one talk. The second day she was at court she cross-questioned me on my politics. I had none. "Why not?" she demanded. She had all the narrow-minded prejudice which most socialists have towards the mere reformer, the believer in palliatives, the spreaders on of salve. Did I not realize the futility of such work as mine? I was more keenly aware of it than she. Well, why did not I go to the root of the matter? Why not attack the basic causes? I was not sure what they were. She was. Although she had not been in the Tombs as many days as I had years, she knew all about it. The whole problem of crime sprang from economic maladjustment. Socialism would cure it. It was all so beautifully simple! I have unspeakable admiration for such faith. It is the most wonderful thing in the world. But all I can do is to envy it. I cannot believe. Her aloofness increased noticeably after she had sounded the depth of my unbelief. When the case was finished, she sought me out to thank me for the very real service I had rendered. Despite my intentions in the matter, her hand slipped out of mine quicker than I wished. I hoped to see her again. She was uncertain how soon, if ever, her work would bring her back to the Tombs. I suggested that I might call on her. She seemed really surprised. "Why," she exclaimed; "thank you. But you know I’m very busy. I have five or six regular engagements a week—committees and all that. And this strike takes what time is left. I am too busy for the social game. I’m sorry. But we’ll run into each other again some time. Goodbye. No end obliged."