“Air,” said Cally Heth, in a small colorless voice.

Hugo wheeled sharply.

“Great heavens!—­Carlisle!...  Do you feel faint?”

He had her at the open window in a trice, clasping her arm tight, speaking masculine encouragement....  “Hold hard, my dear!...  I should have watched you....  Now, breathe this....  Gulp it in, Cally....”

His beloved, indeed, like the work-sisters, had felt the brush of the black wing.  For an instant nothing had seemed surer than that the daughter of the Works would be the fifth girl to faint in the bunching-room that day; she had seen the floor rise under her whirling vision....

But once at the window the dark minute passed speedily.  The keen October air bore the gift of life.  Blood trickled back into the dead white cheeks.

“I ... was just a little dizzy,” said Cally, quite apologetically....

And, though the visitors departed then, almost immediately, all signs of the sudden little panic in the bunching-room were already rapidly disappearing.  Work proceeded.  The gaunt girl Miller, who had earned MacQueen’s permanent dislike by starting all the trouble, was observed sitting again at her machine, hands and feet reaching out for the accustomed levers.

* * * * *

It made an amazing difference simply to be outdoors again.  The last few minutes in the Works had been like a waxing nightmare.  But the sunshine was bright and sane; the raw clean winds blew the horrors away.  Carlisle, realizing that she had been swept along toward something like hysterics, struggled with some success to recapture poise and common sense.

But she could not now quite strike the manner of one who has merely paused for an irresponsible peep.  Hugo was aware of a change in her, before they were fairly in the car again.  He had occasion to reflect anew, not without irritation, what an unfortunate turn she had given to the afternoon of romance, over his own plainly expressed wishes....

Yet nothing could have exceeded his solicitousness.  He seemed to feel that he had been neglectful upstairs, that she would not have felt faint if he had properly presided over her movements.  Cally had to assure him half a dozen times in as many blocks that she felt quite herself again.

And, meantime, he conscientiously gave himself to relieving her mind of the effects of her own feminine foolishness.  That queer and undoubtedly upsetting bit of “crowd psychology” they had seen—­that, he pointed out, had come merely from the unusual heat, the control of the steam-pipes happening to be out of whack to-day.  Such a thing didn’t happen once in six months; so that surly fellow MacQueen had said.  Of course, producing wealth was a hard business at best, let none deny it.  Everybody would like to see factories run on the model theory, like health resorts, but the truth was that those ideas were mostly wind and water, and had never worked out yet.  An owner must think of his profits first, unfeeling as that might seem; else he would have to shut up shop, and then where would those girls be for a living?  They needn’t work for her father unless they wanted to, of course....