Jan began to feel a pity for her. There was that in the curve of her
back which caused him to address her with unwonted gentleness--and
ordinarily Jan was gentle enough for anybody's taste. Yes, she was the
same woman; but if he had met her anywhere else he would not have known
her. She was now all tidied up. Her clothes were fresh, her shoulders
had lost their droop. Her face was less pale and a glow was coming into
her eyes.

Jan's room was on the second floor and now he ascended the stairs to go
there. At the top of the stairs he glanced back; but catching her
looking at him he looked quickly away. From the darkness of the
second-floor hallway, however, he could peer down and she could not see
him. She was still there, standing under the lamp which was now at full
blaze. One arm had been raised high in regulation of the wick and now
she raised the other to steady the lamp, which was swinging. Her figure
was in the shadow from the waist down, but her bust, her neck, face and
long, slim hands were in full light.

"I'd never took her for the same woman--never!" thought Jan.

Next evening Jan saw her again, this time in the narrow second-floor
hallway near the stairs. She shrank against the stair-rail to let him
pass. Jan drew up against the wall. She mutely indicated that he should
pass.

"After you, ma'am," said Jan, and resolutely waited.

"Thank you," she said, and passed on. At the head of the flight of
stairs she turned her head. Jan was still there.