“You feared me as much as you did the police. Why?” She did not answer. “I am completely at a loss,” said he. “Come--why did you not trust me?” “That,” said she steadily, “I cannot tell.” He rubbed his forehead. “Well, of all situations a sane man ever got into!” he muttered. When he next spoke there was again a touch of irony in his voice. “At least,” he drawled, “would it be considered an intrusion into matters which are none of my concern, if I asked what is going to happen to me?” “You will merely be detained till we feel it is safe to release you. Ivan and Nicolai are treating you all right? We had to act instantly, and they were the only persons we could upon the instant command.” “Oh, they’re nice enough boys, I guess,” said Drexel. “But I wish they lived at a better hotel. The janitor here doesn’t know it is winter yet, and keeps the steam heat turned off; my bed, that sofa there, is upholstered with soft coal and soup-bones; and the chef--well, the chef’s repertoire is limited to tea and bologna. But I guess I can stand it.” She smiled slightly, but the smile was instantly gone. “Your inconvenience is being suffered to render more secure a great cause.” “And to render more secure your life?” “And my life,” she added. She held out her hand. “Again I apologize, and again I thank you. Good-bye.” “You are not going!” cried Drexel--but he did not miss the opportunity of taking her hand. “Not yet--please! There is something I want to ask you.” “Yes?” He looked straight into her eyes. “It is this: Who are you?” She drew her hand away. “You do not need to know.” “Perhaps not,” said he. “But I wish to.” “Well--I am one of a thousand girls”--there came a flush into her face and a ring into her voice--“ten thousand girls, yes, a hundred thousand! who are doing the same work.” “Yes, I know now that you are a revolutionist. But who are you personally?” “Any one of the hundred thousand.” “But you are not just any one,” he persisted. “That’s plain. You are educated, refined, have had advantages far above the ordinary.” “Do you not know,”--and her voice swelled with a more vibrant ring--“that our universities are filled with poor, obscure young women--poor, yet great souls just the same! who starve themselves, literally starve themselves, that they may gain an education, that they may become broad, cultured women? And do this that they may bring light and help and hope to their down-trodden people?” But Drexel was seeing her as she appeared upon the train. “That may be so; but you are not of that kind,” he said confidently. “That kind does not look as you did last night.” “But how do you know,” she cried, stretching wide her arms the better to display her clumsy garments, “that last night’s clothes are any truer index of my station than to-night’s?”