He wondered what would come of that side of his life which she had gone out of. As much as might be, he would crowd its borders with the activities of his professional and political work, but something of the space would remain: it belonged. He was still black with the despair of his loss when he turned into Thirty-ninth Street and saw, standing there as if waiting for him, the girl that looked like Joan of Arc. "I’ve been waitin’ for you," she said. Her cheeks and mouth were not painted to-night, and their lines were softer; they spoke only of what she had suffered and not of what she had inflicted. Her eyes were wet with tears; her underlip quivered. "I thought I told you last night," began Luke. "I know," she said. "An’ then I wanted what you thought. But not now, not to-night." She spoke rapidly as if determined that he should hear her out before he could escape. "Don’t mind the way I talk. I just kind of talk that way because it gets like a habit. What I want’s help. I’m in trouble. Honest to God I am." She was surely in trouble, and she was beautiful. "You mean——" His hand went to his pocket. "No, not money," she said. "It ain’t that. It’s about my sister. They’ve got her; my fellow has. Listen." She seized his wrist. "Will you listen a minute, please? Here, if you don’t want no one to see you in this here apartment house, come on over here toward Six’ Av’nue. They’ve got her: my kid sister!" Luke looked at the woman. He could see nothing but sincerity. He was not afraid of an attempt at robbery, and he could think of no other reason for her request except the one she gave. "Yes, I’ll go with you," he said. She hurried him into the darker street. "Listen," she said: "I’m in the business. You know that. I don’t let on to be nothin’ much. But I’ve got a kid sister that lives home; an’ she’s straight, Jenny is. Well, I was talkin’ to her to-night when my fellow came up, an’ he sent me on an errand—we was all standin’ right over on that corner—an’ when I come back, they was gone, both of them—an’ I know he’s got her in here in Pearl’s Six’ Av’nue place." "How do you know that?" "I guessed it, an’ then I rang the bell an’ one o’ the girls told me I was on, an’ then Pearl came down an’ yelled for the bouncer an’ they throwed me out." In the lamplight of the street her face looked like the face of an innocent girl. "Why didn’t you call a policeman?" asked Luke. "Aw, you know them. Pearl stands in." "But they’d have got your sister, anyhow." "Not the cop on this beat. I wouldn’t give up to him the other night, and he run me in." They stopped at a narrow door. There was a shop on one side of it and a saloon on the other. "This is the place," said the girl. "Pearl’s joint’s over the store." "You want me," asked Luke, "to go in and bring your sister out?"