A gust of wind blew inward the cheap lace curtains, and the physical effect of it emphasized the chill that struck Janet’s heart.  She got up and closed the window, lit the gas, and returning to the bed, shook Lise again.

“Listen,” she said, “if you don’t get up I’ll tell mother what happened last night.”

“Say, you wouldn’t—!” exclaimed Lise, angrily.

“Get up!” Janet commanded, and watched her rather anxiously, uncertain as to the after effects of drunkenness.  But Lise got up.  She sat on the edge of the bed and yawned, putting her hand to her forehead.

“I’ve sure got a head on me,” she remarked.

Janet was silent, angrier than ever, shocked that tragedy, degradation, could be accepted thus circumstantially.  Lise proceeded to put up her hair.  She seemed to be mistress of herself; only tired, gaping frequently.  Once she remarked:—­“I don’t see the good of getting nutty over a highball.”

Seeing that Janet was not to be led into controversy, she grew morose.

Breakfast in Fillmore Street, never a lively meal, was more dismal than usual that morning, eaten to the accompaniment of slopping water from the roofs on the pavement of the passage.  The indisposition of Lise passed unobserved by both Hannah and Edward; and at twenty minutes to eight the two girls, with rubbers and umbrellas, left the house together, though it was Janet’s custom to depart earlier, since she had farther to go.  Lise, suspicious, maintained an obstinate silence, keeping close to the curb.  They reached the corner by the provision shop with the pink and orange chromos of jellies in the window.

“Lise, has anything happened to you?” demanded Janet suddenly.  “I want you to tell me.”

“Anything happened—­what do you mean?  Anything happened?”

“You know very well what I mean.”

“Well, suppose something has happened?” Lise’s reply was pert, defiant.  “What’s it to you?  If anything’s happened, it’s happened to me—­hasn’t it?”

Janet approached her.

“What are you trying to do?” said Lise.  “Push me into the gutter?”

“I guess you’re there already,” said Janet.

Lise was roused to a sudden pitch of fury.  She turned on Janet and thrust her back.

“Well, if I am who’s going to blame me?” she cried.  “If you had to work all day in that hole, standing on your feet, picked on by yaps for six a week, I guess you wouldn’t talk virtuous, either.  It’s easy for you to shoot off your mouth, you’ve got a soft snap with Ditmar.”

Janet was outraged.  She could not restrain her anger.

“How dare you say that?” she demanded.

Lise was cowed.

“Well, you drove me to it—­you make me mad enough to say anything.  Just because I went to Gruber’s with Neva Lorrie and a couple of gentlemen—­they were gentlemen all right, as much gentlemen as Ditmar—­you come at me and tell me I’m all to the bad.”  She began to sob.  “I’m as straight as you are.  How was I to know the highball was stiff?  Maybe I was tired—­anyhow, it put me on the queer, and everything in the joint began to tango ’round me—­and Neva came home with me.”