Gently she pressed from him. She sat by the table at the room’s far side. She buried her face in her hands on the cluttered table. She wept.... She wept long. She stayed still motionless there, with her face buried among papers after she had wept. The world came back:--The dusk of the spent day. The long cool wake of the spent heat-storm. The little office, pitching no longer ... spent ... atop the cluttered City. And this man, stranger she had worked for now many months, who was solid and could help ... this man so good that he had made her scream. With a felt slowness she lifted her head, turned her face. --He is there! He has not moved. He stands there silent, held by the sight of me ... while I wept. She smiled at him. “Do you feel better now?” She nodded. “Sure?” She nodded. He brought her coat and hat. An orange feather tufted from the straw. His long vein-straggled hand ran over the feather. She looked at it. The feather was not ruffled. “Thank you,” she said very soft. His face was rounder with a smile. She saw his jagged teeth and his soft twining lips. She saw the dimple in his chin and his long neck.--Ostrich! She was alert, serious as he helped her. She felt him ... good ... with her back ... all about her ... as he helped her. --He is sure! While I wept, he was there, not moving! The hand she held out to his seemed small to her, pretty.... * * * * * There was a knock on Fanny’s door. “It’s me, Mrs. Luve.” “O Mrs. Deemis. Come in....” She was almost dressed. The old lady gave a glance that was like a draught of drink at the whole room ... her room, changed so often into new mystery of him or her who hired it. She lived familiarly in mystery. It warmed her. She had no man, her children were gone: she had a family of mystery. She did not know but on these she subsisted. “There was a phone call for you ... early ... your office. A Mr. Johns--he didn’t give no other name--he said as how if you wasn’t feeling well this morning you should knock off. It’d be alright. Are you sick, dearie?” “No.” Restless before her mirror.--What should I do here, workless? “Yesterday afternoon a little.... The New York heat, I reckon.” “I guess so. Well,” the old lady opened the door, “Take the chance when it’s offered. Eh?” She was a silent woman for she was full of her mysteries. She left. Fanny went on dressing. * * * * *