Her car came presently, jerking along, stopping and starting again in the crowded street. The crowd sweeping by brushed her now and then, but suddenly she felt a more personal contact--some one had touched her. She shrank; she shuddered with fear, then she ran out to her car. Inside she began again that study of faces. She tried not to do so, but she seemed unable to shake off the habit--that face seemed always to be looking out at her from all other faces, white and sensitive, with the black mark on the neck where the coat collar had rubbed its color. And the eyes more and more reproached her, as if she had been responsible for the sadness that lay in them. The car whirred on, the conductor opened the door with monotonous regularity, and called out the interminable streets. The air in the car, overheated by the little coal-stove, took on the foul smell of the air at the Charities. Elizabeth’s head ached more and more, a sickness came over her. At last she reached the street which led across to Claybourne Avenue, and got off. She crossed the little triangular park. The air had suddenly taken on a new life, it was colder and clearer. The dampness it had held in suspense for days was leaving it. Looking between the black trunks of the trees in the park she saw the western sky, yellow and red where the sun had gone down; and she thought of her home, with its comfort and warmth and light, and the logs in the great fireplace in the library. She hastened on, soothed and reassured. In the sense of certain comfort she now confidently anticipated, she could get the poor out of her mind, and feel as she used to feel before they came to annoy her. The clouds were clearing, the sky took on the deep blue it shows at evening; one star began to sparkle frostily, and, just as peace was returning, that young man’s face came back, and she remembered instantly, in a flash, that it was the face of Harry Graves. XVI