"You looked a million miles away," she said. "If you were another sort of girl, I'd say you were dreaming of your best fellow. What! Blushes! Then you were? Was it Paul?" "Paul!" Jean repelled the suggestion with a pillow. "Take that!" They said no more of the buyer--he was luckily out of the reckoning; and although Jean deemed the dentist a wiser judge of men in general, and of floor-walkers in particular, than Amy, she decided for the present to side with neither, but try to weigh Mr. Rose for herself. If Amy was skimming thin ice, she was at least a practiced skater, with the chastening memory of a serious splash. Moreover, to recur to Amy's metaphor, she had a canoe of her own to paddle, as she was roughly reminded that same afternoon. XII It happened at dusk while they were returning from Central Park, which Amy had selected as a primary lesson in Jean's civic education. They were homing by way of Broadway, and were well back into the theatrical section, when Jean's guide gripped her abruptly by the arm, dragged her into the nearest doorway, and hurried her half up the dark flight of stairs to which it led. Even here she enjoined silence, pointing for explanation to the square of pavement framed by the doorway, into which an instant later loitered the bedizened key to the riddle--Stella Wilkes. There was no mistaking her. For an interminable interval she lingered, watchful of the street, so distinct under the electrics that they could even make out her mole. Then, aimlessly as she had come, she drifted out again and away. "Thank my stars I saw her first that time!" gasped Amy, still fearfully intent upon the lighted square. "You knew she was in New York?" "Yes. I've seen her before. She came up to me one night looking even worse than now. She was more painted, and her eyes were like burned holes. She said she was broke, but had the promise of a place. It was to sing in some gin-mill, I think. She _can_ sing, you know. Remember how she'd let her voice go in chapel, just to show off? I loaned her a dollar to get rid of her. I was afraid somebody I knew might see us together. I think she saw I was afraid." "You shouldn't have let her see; it gives her a hold on you. I shan't dodge." Jean began consistently to descend, but Amy caught her back. "Wait," she pleaded. "Do wait a little longer. Wait for my sake, if you don't care yourself. But you'd better fight shy of her, too, I can tell you. She hasn't forgotten the prison riot. She mentioned it the night I saw her, and said she'd get plenty square with you yet."