Julia never stopped, never looked back, just kept going, which was the right thing. She probably thought I had been taken by the police. No good in her getting arrested, too.

Although for years I kept a sharp eye out, I never saw her again; that is, to know her. Of course the gray-haired old lady that sat next me in the car this morning might have been Julia. But anyway, if she is alive and this meets her eye, I want her to know I never doubted for a minute that she stayed away from the life she left behind at Madam Singleton’s.

Later, when I went to her room, it was vacant. The man in charge told me a strange, bearded man with a policeman called on her⁠—my father, no doubt⁠—after which she packed up and left without a word.

I called at the theater and inquired, but they had forgotten her.