All at once they seemed lifted above the city, soaring upward past the last sinking roofs, cleaving into clear air. They were on the great Williamsburg Bridge, the river far below, strewn with dusky moving shapes setting out faint lamps against the darkening day. Across the river gusts of steam or belching smoke thickened the gray horizon. Factories, come down like animals to drink at the riverside, stood in naked profile against the sky, pointing their rigid towers toward the stars, sending occasional flaming blasts across reddening lines of window-panes. Below, like the magic of invisible sprites, the jeweled strands of Brooklyn Bridge were flinging a brilliant span across the gulf of the night. About them, deliriously below, were the thousand waking eyes of mysterious hours, starting from the regimented lamp-posts that cut the city into squares of black. All about them was that day of the city which is the creation of man, which he has created in the need of forgetfulness, of doubling the span of his few allotted years in a sort of Promethean revolt. The day often oppressed her--the night never. She sat up, smiling and alert, and as if for the first time taking notice of where she was and where she was going, asked: "What time is it?" "Half past five only." But she began to feel a menace in this other bank which they were nearing, in these long stretches of human wilderness leading to the sound. Sassoon was entirely too docile, she did not know why, but she scented danger in the air. "We will go back," she said suddenly. "Brooklyn is too dreary; besides, it's late for tea." "I'm sorry," he said, stirring in his seat; "I'm afraid you don't trust me?" "No, I don't--not too far!" "Supposing I decided to go on?" he said quickly. "I should open the window and scream," she said, handing him the tube. He complied reluctantly, seeking an excuse. "It'll only take us twenty minutes. I wanted you to get the effect of New York coming back; in another half-hour it'll be magnificent!" "I'll enjoy it very much now," she answered, laughing. "You quite misjudge me," he said, without further trace of irritation. "However, as you wish. I saw you were blue, and I had planned something to distract you. But it's no use." "What had you planned?" she said maliciously. "To take you to a very nice party." "What?" "A supper with some interesting people--Emma Fornez, Sada Quichy--" "Where?" she said suspiciously. "At the Café Loo." "Where's that?" "In Harlem." She reflected. She had expected him to give the name of some inn in the country where she would not venture; but Harlem reassured her. Perhaps the party existed, and, if so, she was crazy to meet Emma Fornez, of the Metropolitan Opera. Besides, she felt in a reckless mood, within certain safe limitations. "If you asked me very nicely," she said softly, "you might be surprised--"