"Try." "No," cried the girl, "no, I can't, I can't." "Or your address ?" repeated Constance.

"Try--try hard!" The girl looked vacantly about.
"No," she sobbed, "it's all gone--all." Puzzled, Constance took her arm and slowly walked her up the street toward her own apartment in the hope that she might catch sight of some familiar face or be able to pull herself together.
But it was of no use.
They passed a policeman who eyed them sharply.

The mere sight of the blue-coated officer sent a shudder through the already trembling girl on her arm.
"Don't, don't let them take me to a hospital--don't," pleaded the girl in a hoarse whisper when they had passed the officer.
"I won't," reassured Constance.

"Was that the man who was following you ?" "No--oh, no," sobbed the girl nervously looking back.
"Who was he, then ?" asked Constance eagerly.
The girl did not answer, but continued to look back wildly from time to time, although there was no doubt that, if he existed at all, the man had disappeared.
Suddenly Constance realized that she had on her hands a case of aphasia, perhaps real, perhaps induced by a drug.
At any rate, the fear of being sent away to an institution was so strong in the poor creature that Constance felt intuitively how disastrous to her might be the result of disregarding the obsession.
She was in a quandary.

What should she do with the girl?
To leave her on the street was out of the question.