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Rh “Oh, thanks, your honour.” She was led off, and Jarvis sickened at the sight.

A series of young girls followed, cheaply modish, with their willow plumes and their vanity bags. Some cheerful, some cynical, some defiant. One slip of a thing heard her sentence, looked up in the judge’s face, and laughed. Jarvis knew that never, while he lived, would he forget that girl’s laugh. It was into the face of our whole hideous Society that she hurled that bitter laugh.

Then his girl was brought in. He saw her clearly for the first time. A thin, wizened little face, framed in curly red hair, with bright, birdlike eyes. Her thin, flat child’s figure was outlined in a tight, black satin dress, with a red collar and sash. Her quick glance darted to him, and she smiled. The policeman made his charge. The judge glanced at her.

“Anything to say for yourself?”

She shook her head wearily. Jarvis was out of his seat before he thought.

“I have something to say for her. I am the man she was supposed to have approached.”

“Silence in the courtroom,” said the judge, sternly.

“She didn’t say one word to me, except ‘Good evening,’” shouted Jarvis.