The gathering twilight made her the more conspicuous and a man presently took a place on the other end of the bench and asked her her trouble. His motive was simple friendliness, but he reminded her of the creatures who had come at the stupid beckoning of her eyes into the jewelry store, and rising quickly she crossed the street, blind to a rapidly approaching automobile. She escaped all but a glancing blow of the fender, but that threw her against the curb.
Picking herself up, bruised and angry and tremulous, she found herself surrounded by the driver of the automobile, the stranger from whom she had flown, and Fetzer, the owner of the shadowy face which she had seen at the upper window. Fetzer was alone and lonely and she had been watching Ellen. She had a passion to which all else was subservient, the finding of persons as trustworthy as herself to serve Stephen, and she had been looking at Ellen critically from across the street as she often looked at strong, plainly dressed young women. Ellen assured them that she was not hurt.
"It was my own fault. I was in a hurry and I didn't watch."
The stranger came forward.
"I saw you were in some trouble and I thought I might help you. I didn't mean to frighten you."
"Oh, I understand," said Ellen earnestly.
The chauffeur protested his innocence to Fetzer.
"You saw her run across, didn't you?"
"Yes." Fetzer laid her hand on Ellen's arm and spoke in an idiom familiar to her. "Come in here once a little where I live."
The chauffeur was still disturbed.