"I--I must beg of you not to--to take an attitude toward--" "If you want me to help you, my dear, you must trust me. What is your name?" "Lilly. Your files won't help you. I'm not on record--that way. Lilly Parlow for professional reasons, but I want her christened by her full family name--" "What is your family name?" "Why, Lilly--Becker--Penny." "Your last address?" "You mean?" "Where did you sleep last night?" "I told you. Hanna Larchmont Hospital. I received my discharge to-day." "Is the father of your child your lawful husband?" "Indeed, yes!" "Where is he?" "Out West--where I came from." "Exactly where?" "D-d-denver, I think." "Why are you here and he there?" "Oh, you mustn't question me like this! I left him of my own free will, after I found I had made a mistake. I am not asking anything of you. I can pay. I want a room for me and my baby, for a few days until I get her placed. I can make certain arrangements for her and take up my work again." "What is your work?" "I am a singer." "Where are your friends?" "I have none." "You are quite sure that this man whom you call your husband--" "I won't be talked to in that tone." "Of course, you realize that you are a highly specialized case." "Do these institutions merely function as machines? Is no provision made for the exception? Rent me a room for me and my baby. I will pay you in advance. See, I have five five-dollar bills in my purse. I must have a place to sleep and I won't leave here unless you forcibly eject me. I must have my luggage; it is still at the hospital." "How is it they did not help you there to make further provision for--" "I didn't explain. It seemed inconceivable that I could not find immediately lodgings." "I see," said Lilly's interrogator, with the air of seeing not at all. "Your case does not come under our kind of jurisdiction. Our girls are unfortunate mothers who are cared for here until such time as arrangements can be made to place the child. But no girl is entitled to our nursery and infirmary service for more than four consecutive weeks, and then, as I said, only in the event of unfortunate motherhood." "Can only the unmarried mother be unfortunate?" "I hardly care to discuss with you the wisdom of our policies." "But you must," cried Lilly, now thoroughly beside herself. "What about the girl who would rather fight out her own destiny than live through the miserable and immoral--yes, immoral--process of a marriage that she realizes has been a mistake? Is there no provision for the woman who hasn't a man-made grievance against society? Who simply wants her one-hundred-per-cent-right to live? Women are coming to demand it more and more, that right! I venture to say that ten years from now they will be voting themselves that right. Now we're like a lot of half-hatched chickens pecking through the shell. I've pecked through! My daughter may live to see them all pecked through." "Really, I can't see--"