"Don't be harsh with Fred," she entreated. "Tell him the truth, but don't hurt his pride. Fred is so proud. He's the proudest man I ever knew. Besides, I'm every bit as much to blame. Stroke him the right way, and he'll do almost anything you want. I could have managed him, if I'd been well. He means all right. He'll do right, too. I wish--I wish you could see us married, Jean. If he would only come now, we could get a minister in and have it over to-night." Jean hoped as fervently as Amy for the drummer's coming, and in this hope lingered till she could wait no longer. "Go to bed," she charged. "Sitting up won't hurry him home. If he comes, don't weep, don't reproach him, don't plead with him, don't--above all--don't apologize. Keep him guessing for once, and leave the talking to me. Find out in some way where I can see him. If he will be home to-morrow evening, I'll come here; if there's a chance of catching him earlier at the office of his firm, let me know and I'll go there. Meanwhile say nothing, but look your best." Amy promised all things, and Jean hurried out, horrified at the lateness of the hour. The long down-town journey at this hour daunted her till she shook off the atmosphere of the Lorna Doone sufficiently to recall that penny-saving was no more a vital factor in her life. Cabs were not wont to stalk custom in this neighborhood, however, and even a search of the nearest cross-street, where business predominated, was fruitless. As she hesitated, scouring the scene, the attentions of a group of corner loafers became pointed, and, believing one of them about to accost her, she darted down a convenient stair of the subway and boarded a train which was just about to depart. She rode past two stations before she discovered that in her haste she had entered from an uptown platform. Dismounting, she began a wait in the whited suffocating cavern, which seemed endless. Under the hard glitter of the arc-lights the raw flamboyant advertisements of soaps, whiskies, hair tonics, liver pills, and department-store specials became a physical pain. The voices of the ticket-choppers, gossiping across the tracks of the President whom they called by a diminutive of his first name, were like the drone of monster flies in a bottle. Then the green and yellow eyes of her dilatory train gleamed far down the tunnel, and the rails quickened and murmured under its onset. This show of speed was delusive, however. They halted leisurely at platforms where no one got off or on, and loitered mysteriously in the bowels of the earth where were no stations whatsoever. The system seemed hopelessly out of joint and the handful of passengers sighed or swore, according to sex, and tried with grotesque noddings to nap through the tedious delays. Then more waits and more stations succeeded, and the ranks of the sufferers thinned until only Jean and a red-nosed woman, who smelled of gin and thirsted for conversation, were left.