Opposite one of these the Worm took Sue's arm, very gently, and halted her on the curb. The evening throng brushed past, heedless of the simply dressed girl who yet was oddly, boyishly slim and graceful of body, and who was striking of countenance despite the weariness evident about the rather strongly modeled mouth and the large, thoughtful green eyes; heedless, as well, of the lank, shabbily dressed young man who held her arm and bent earnestly over her. They were atoms in the careering metropolis, uncounted polyps in the blind, swarming, infinitely laborious structure that is New York. And they thought themselves, each, the center of the universe. “Sue, dear,” said he, “here we are. You're about to see yourself. It will be an experience. And it won't be what you're thinking and--yes, dreading. I've seen it--” She glanced up in surprise. “Last night--an exhibition to the newspaper men.” The emotion in his voice was evident. She glanced up again, something puzzled. “It was last night--afterward--that I decided on bringing you in. I wouldn't for anything in the world have missed having you here to-night. Though, at that, if Mr. Greatest Publisher hadn't warmed my soul with that wonderful blast of hot air I probably shouldn't have had the nerve. Of course I knew it would be an ordeal. It's been on my conscience every minute. But I had to bring you, and I believe you'll understand why, two hours from now. I'm hoping you will, Sue.” He hesitated. She waited. Suddenly then, he hurried her across the busy street and into the dim shelter of the gallery entrance. “Zanin was out in front,” said he, “With some of the newspaper boys, but I got you by.” Many individuals and groups were detaching themselves from the endless human stream and turning in between the six-foot lithographs at the main entrance to the theater. More and more steadily as Sue and the Worm stood in the shadow of the lesser doorway they had chosen, the crowds poured in. Others were turning in here toward the gallery and tramping up the long twisting stairway. “Big house!” chuckled the Worm. “Oh, they'll put it across, Sue. You wait! Zanin's publicity has been wonderful. It would have disturbed you, girl--but it's rather a shame you haven't followed it.” Sue seemed not to hear him. She was leaning out from the doorway, trying to make out the subjects of the two big lithographs. She finally slipped across to the curb and studied them a moment. Both were of herself, half-clad in the simple garment of an island savage; over each picture was the one word, “NATURE,” under each the two words, “SUE WILDE.” She hurried back and started up the stairs. The Worm saw that she was flushing again and that her mouth wore the set look. On a landing, holding her back from a group ahead, he said: “Do you know, Sue, part of the disturbance you feel is just a shrinking from conspicuousness, from the effective thing. Self-consciousness! Isn't it, now?” But she turned away and kept on.