The last of the circles throbbed dimly a long way off, vanished, and the joggling went on. Something must be done. An effort of some sort must be made. But where was the spring of action? In the arms, in the legs, in the eyelids? Push somehow. And it was easy after all. It was done. Megan saw that it was raining again. Another rainy day. She seemed to be caught in one great, gray, endless spider-web of a rainy day. But the pain was only a pain in the head, over the eyes, making it difficult to keep them open. The joggling went on, modified now and unimportant. Directly ahead was a little half-moon shining agreeably in the grayness, a little half-moon of lime-green satin supporting another moon, full, round, traced with benevolent, surprised eyebrows. "Do you feel better?" Some one had said that. "I believe I do," said Megan and saw a train moving, rain streaming down a pane, a Chinese face over a collar of lime-green satin. "Then I want you to drink some tea." A hand like a curled shell held a glass over which hung steam in a small fog, with an odor of aromatic flowers. "I don't think I can drink it." "Please try." "I think it will make me sick." The eyebrows lifted now with such a delicate insistence, not really eyebrows, only painted lines done with one stroke on a powdered forehead. Some one came up from behind and held a hot, wet towel on her forehead. Surprisingly, it felt well, seemed to dissolve most of the pain and made her conscious of other lesser pains in the back, shoulders and arms. But the head was the real pain in spite of towels. "You must not be frightened," said the lady, "no one will hurt you." Suddenly a vista clicked open. She saw the face of the coolie with the cue wound round his hat, four rickshaws fleeing from her down a dark street, and she felt again the last draining of strength as she lifted Doctor Strike into the rickshaw, felt also the humiliation of her terror which had permitted her to shriek for help in the midst of a crowd. This last became physical. "I'm afraid I'm going to be sick," she said. "Try to drink some tea." A cool hand slipped under her head. Megan looked into a glass and saw little tea flowers swimming in it upright like weeds on a river bottom. They moved up to her and a heat that was pungent flowed down her throat direct to some center of weakness which was instantly fortified. She was not sick. "The General thinks it will do you good." "The General!" In the corner of the carriage nearest the window sat a man in a gray uniform. His prominent eyes held the reflection of some incomprehensible amusement. As he saw her looking at him he rose out of his seat and bowed.