"I'm afraid you'll have to."
Emily couldn't believe him.
"You mean you don't want us to stay here?"
"It comes to that. We've had unfortunate things—too many of them—lately. Leave the young lady here. I'll take charge of her while you pack your things. Or shall I have them brought down for you?"
She went out of the door, into Martha's shame, into the lobby where all eyes seemed to be upon her, into the elevator. The negro youth seemed to be pointing her out, a disreputable woman being turned out of the hotel. She got her things together; she went to Martha's room; she sent their luggage down; she went down and paid her bill at the desk window. Years afterwards she could feel those men looking at her curiously. She went to the room where Martha sat a prisoner. The manager was solicitous. He told the boy to have her things put in a taxi at the less conspicuous entry. She took Martha out, therefrom, down a quiet hall.
"Where to?" asked the chauffeur.
"To the Pennsylvania Station," she said.
It was almost dark, and very cold, and the taxi seemed not to move at all through the crowds.
"What are you going to do with me now?" Martha moaned.
"I don't know," said Emily.