The woman frowned. “Oh, that’s a swell place,” she said. “Senators and millionaires. Too high for us to fly.”
Mrs. ¬ÝCresswell winced. ‚ÄúBut where is it?‚Äù she asked.
“We’ll walk by it if you want to.”
And Mary Cresswell walked in another world.
Up from the ground of the drowsy city rose pale gray forms; pale, flushed, and brilliant, in silken rags.
Up and down they passed, to and fro, looking and gliding like sheeted ghosts; now dodging policemen, now accosting them familiarly.
“Hello, Elise,” growled one big bluecoat.
“Hello, Jack.”
‚ÄúWhat‚Äôs this?‚Äù and he peered at Mrs. ¬ÝCresswell, who shrank back.
“Friend of mine. All right.”
A horror crept over Mary Cresswell: where had she lived that she had seen so little before? What was Washington, and what was this fine, tall, quiet residence? Was this‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄúNell‚Äôs‚Äù?
‚ÄúYes, this is it‚ÅÝ‚Äîgoodbye‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI must‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
‚ÄúWait‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhat is your name?‚Äù
“I haven’t any name,” answered the woman suspiciously.
‚ÄúWell‚ÅÝ‚Äîpardon me! Here!‚Äù and she thrust a bill into the woman‚Äôs hand.
The girl stared.