ld
so easily have offered to give her the money. No matter, he could make
amends at once and offer it to her now. It would be doubtless an unusual
experience for her to come into contact with someone whose rule of life
was not dictated by the brutal self-interest of those with whom her
commerce must generally lie. She would serve to bring to the proof his
theory that so much of the world's beastliness could be cleansed by
having recourse to the natural instincts of decent behavior without any
grand effort of reformation. Nevertheless, Michael did feel very
philanthropic when he went down to answer Poppy's summons.

"I say," he began at once. "It was stupid of me just now not to suggest
that I should find the money for your kid's clothes. Look here, we'll go
to the Holborn after dinner and----" he paused. He felt a delicacy in
inquiring how much exactly she might expect to lose by giving him her
company--"and--er--I suppose a couple of pounds would buy something?"

"I say, kiddie, you're a sport," she said. "Only look here, don't go and
spend more than what you can afford. It isn't as if we'd met by chance,
as you might say."

"Oh no, I can afford two pounds," Michael assured her.

"Where shall we go? I know a nice room which the woman lets me have for
four shillings. That's not too much, is it?"

He was touched by her eager consideration for his purse, and he
stammered, trying to explain as gently as he could that the two pounds
was not offered for hire.

"But, kiddie, I can't bring you back here. Not even if you do lodge
here. These aren't gay rooms."

"I don't want to go anywhere with you," said Michael. "The money is a
present."

"Oh, is it?" she flamed out. "Then you can keep your dirty money.
Thanks, I haven't come down to charity. Not yet. If I'm not good enough
for you, you can keep your money. I believe you're nothing more than a
dirty ponce. I've gone five years without keeping a fellow yet. And I'm
not going to begin now. That's very certain. Are you going out or am I
going out? Because I don't want to be seen with you. You and your
presents. Gard! I should have to be drunk on claret and lemon before I
went home with you."

Michael had nothing to say to her and so he went out, closing the front
door quickly upon her rage. His first impression when he gained the
fresh air was of a fastidious disgust. Here in the Crescent the orange
lucency of the evening shed such a glory that the discoloration of th