The queen gave one of her peculiar shrugs.

“Going to break Sam McFaddon,” continued Pinky, her spirits rising under the influence of Norah’s treat.

“Soft heads don’t often break hard rocks,” returned the woman, with a covert sneer.

“That’s an insult!” cried Pinky, on whom the liquor she had just taken was beginning to have a marked effect, “and I won’t stand an insult from you or anybody else.”

“Well, I wouldn’t if I was you,” returned Norah, coolly.  A hard expression began settling about her mouth.

“And I don’t mean to.  I’m as good as you are, any day!”

“You may be a great deal better, for all I care,” answered Norah.  “Only take my advice, and keep a civil tongue in your head.”  There was a threatening undertone in the woman’s voice.  She drew her tall person more erect, and shook herself like a wild beast aroused from inaction.

Pinky was too blind to see the change that had come so suddenly.  A stinging retort fell from her lips.  But the words had scarcely died on the air ere she found herself in the grip of vice-like hands.  Resistance was of no more avail than if she had been a child.  In what seemed but a moment of time she was pushed back through the door and dropped upon the pavement.  Then the door shut, and she was alone on the outside—­no, not alone, for scores of the denizens who huddle together in that foul region were abroad, and gathered around her as quickly as flies about a heap of offal, curious, insolent and aggressive.  As she arose to her feet she found herself hemmed in by a jeering crowd.

“Ho! it’s Pinky Swett!” cried a girl, pressing toward her.  “Hi, Pinky! what’s the matter?  What’s up?”

“Norah pitched her out!  I saw it!” screamed a boy, one of the young thieves that harbored in the quarter.

“It’s a lie!” Pinky answered back as she confronted the crowd.

At this moment another boy, who had come up behind Pinky, gave her dress so violent a jerk that she fell over backward on the pavement, striking her head on a stone and cutting it badly.  She lay there, unable to rise, the crowd laughing with as much enjoyment as if witnessing a dog-fight.

“Give her a dose of mud!” shouted one of the boys; and almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth her face was covered with a paste of filthy dirt from the gutter.  This, instead of exciting pity, only gave a keener zest to the show.  The street rang with shouts and peals of merriment, bringing a new and larger crowd to see the fun.  With them came one or two policemen.

Seeing that it was only a drunken woman, they pushed back the crowd and raised her to her feet.  As they did so the blood streamed from the back of her head and stained her dress to the waist.  She was taken to the nearest station-house.

At eleven o’clock on the next morning, punctual to the minute, came Mrs. Dinneford to the little third-story room in which she had met Mrs. Bray.  She repeated her rap at the door before it was opened, and noticed that a key was turned in the lock.