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The milliner remained on the bed, closed her eyes, and moved her aching head. She tried to think. Where would she go? No matter where she went the "nice" people, the Christian people with whom she had associated all of her life, would have none of her. She could never speak to another "nice" woman, never help design another hat, never freely indulge in the simple pleasure of prayer meeting and Sunday-school lesson; and yet the thought of any other sort of association was terrifying to her. She was exactly what she had been before her passionate surrender to her lover.

A strange thought trickled through Nessie’s throbbing head that perhaps all "nice" girls were merely fortunate girls, and "bad" girls merely unfortunate. This fancy itself seemed impure, not maidenly, and she thought with dismay, "Am I really becoming bad?"

Presently her thoughts came back to the problem actually in hand. Where could she go? How could she search out another boarding place, and then what could she do? The notion of walking out into the staring village and asking anywhere for board was impossible.

A profound shudder ran through the girl. A vision of those depths to which she knew unfortunate women did sink arose in terrifying detail before her. Tears trickled out of her eyes and wet her cheeks, and she prayed silently, gripping her hands and looking up at the fly-stained ceiling, "O God, don’t let me come to that! God have mercy, I'd rather die than do that!" She grew chill with repulsion at the thought. She shock away the horrible imaginings and almost mechanically arose to her feet and set about her packing.

As she worked, her thoughts continued to skurry here and there like terrified rats seeking to escape from a trap. She saw Buckingham Sharp's law book still lying on her table and she thought of appealing to him. But she decided he would not hear her. She thought of going to other men of the village. She did not know that the essential thing in a