She made a step toward the door.
"Can I do anything for you ?" asked the editor of the _Consul_, taking off his, hat.
"Nothing, thank you," Elfrida replied, looking beyond him.

"Unless you will kindly allow me to pass." It was still raining doggedly, as it does in the the late afternoon.

Elfrida thought with a superlative pang of discomfort of the three or four blocks that lay between her and the nearest bake-shop.

She put up her umbrella, gathered her skirts up behind, and started wearily for the Haymarket.

She had never in her life felt so tired.
Suddenly a thrill of consciousness went up from her left hand--the hand that held her skirts--such a thrill as is known only to the sex that wills to have its pocket there.