Then I saw myself remaining in the city, seeking work and finding nothing. Teach I could not; every door was barred except--I saw myself before the footlights, coarsened, swallowing greedily the applause of a music hall audience, taking a husband from that audience perhaps--a brute like Bellmer! Better die! But as the vision passed, a great desire of life grew upon me. It seemed monstrous, hideous, that I should ever die or be unhappy; the fighting instinct sent the blood galloping. I sat erect. Then I noticed that the sun was gone, and the evening cool was rapidly falling. The little people of the grass whose affairs I had idly watched I could no longer see--gone to their homes maybe; and I turned to mine, desolate as it was, hungry and chilled and alone. And that evening John Burke brought the sunshine. CHAPTER X. PLIGHTED TROTH. "Helen, you seem tired," John said as I met him at the door--at first I peeped out from behind it, I remember, as if I feared the bogey-man--"Have you been too hard at work?" "I've been out all the afternoon," I said, "and I suppose I am rather tired, but it was pleasant and warm; and I wore a veil." There was a little awkward pause after I had ushered him to the reception room, and then, guiding the talk through channels he thought safe, he spoke about his law work, the amusing things that happen at the office, his gratifying progress in his profession. "Oh," I said, "talking of the law reminds me--some stupid paper was left here to-day." I found with some difficulty and handed to him the stiff folded legal cap the man had brought. He glanced through it with apprehensive surprise, skipping the long sentences to the end. "Why, this is returnable to-morrow," he said; "Nelly, I had no idea you were in such urgent money troubles; why didn't you send for me at once; this morning?" "Oh, if that's all--I've had so many duns that I'm tired of them: tired to death of them." "But this isn't a dun," he began in the unnaturally quiet tone of a man who is trying to keep his temper and isn't going to succeed. "It is a court order; and people don't ignore court orders unless they want to get into trouble. This paper calls you to court to-morrow morning in supplementary proceedings." "I don't know what they are." "You don't want to know what they are. You mustn't know. It's an ordeal so terrible that most creditors employ it only as a last resort, especially against a woman. This plaintiff, being herself a woman, is less merciful." "Why is it so terrible? I have no money; they can't make me pay what I haven't got, can they? Is it the Inquisition?" "Yes, of a sort; it's an inquiry into your ability to pay, and almost no question that could throw light upon that is barred. You'll be asked about your business in New York, your income and expenses, your family and your father's means. It will be a turning inside out of your most intimate affairs." "Why, I should expect all that," I said.