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Updated: June 23, 2025
She was becoming a different sort of being she looked back on the hard-toiling girl, who worked so faithfully, who tried to study, who had a quiet home, whose day was an innocent routine of toil and meals and talk and sleep, as on some one who was beautiful and lovely, but now dead. In her place was a sharp, cynical young woman. Well for Rhona that her sentence was but five days!
At rehearsal I could not get these screams right for a long time. Madame de Rhona grew more and more impatient and at last flew at me like a wild-cat and shook me. I cried, just as I had done when I could not get Prince Arthur's terror right, and then the wild, agonized scream that Madame de Rhona wanted came to me. I reproduced it and enlarged it in effect.
Rhona felt that she had to speak quickly and get in her word before the others. She tried to be calm, but a dull sob went with the words. "That man struck me knocked me down. I've had him arrested." The sergeant did not look up. He went on writing. Finally he spoke, easily: "True, Officer?" The policeman cleared his throat. "The other way round, Sergeant. She struck the man."
A stout policeman slouched under a street-lamp, swinging his club with a heavily gloved hand, and in the shadow of the loft-building entrance Rhona pointed out to Myra several ill-looking private detectives who danced up and down on their toes, blew their hands, smoked cigarettes, and kept tab of the time. "It's they," whispered Rhona, "who make all the trouble.
Sinfi and Rhona both say the Golden Hand brings luck: what is luck? I looked up at the little cloud which to me seemed more like a golden feather than a golden hand. But I soon bent my eyes down again to look at her. While I stood looking at her, the tall figure of a man came out of the church. This was Tom Wynne.
Rhona was in a specially playful mood, and came dancing round us more like a child of six than a young woman with a Romany Rye for a lover. But neither Sinfi nor I was in the mood for frolic.
She questioned a passer-by about the location of Ninth Street. "Up Broadway seven or eight blocks!" She started; she hurried; her feet were winged with desperate fear. What could be done? How help Rhona? Surely Joe Joe could do something. He would know she would hasten to him and get his aid. That at least she could do. Now and then a bitter sob escaped her.
Women of the street, sitting together, chewed gum and laughed and talked shrilly, and Rhona could not understand how prisoners could be so care-free. All the evening she had been dazed, her one clear thought the sending of a message for help. But now as she sat in the dim, reeking cell, she began to realize what had happened.
Here and there at a window a clerk pressed his face against the cold pane and looked down into the cheerless twilight, and many toilers made the hard pavement echo with their fast steps as they hurried homeward. "There they are," said Rhona. Two girls, both placarded, came up to them.
Accordingly I changed my course, and followed them up. On coming upon them in a famous English camping-place I found the Lovells and the Boswells. Rhona, dressed in gorgeous attire, evidently purchased at some second-hand shop, was rehearsing the shawl-dance for a great occasion at a neighbouring fair. But no Winifred.
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