er voice, "I am very
unhappy; can you tell me what to do? I had no money for a ticket."

The foreign youth's face flickered.

"Yes?" he said; "that might happen to anyone, of course."

"What will they do to me?" sighed the girl.

"Don't lose courage, ma'moiselle." The young man slid his eyes from left
to right, and rested them on Shelton. "Although I don't as yet see your
way out."

"Oh, monsieur!" sighed the girl, and, though it was clear that none but
Shelton understood what they were saying, there was a chilly feeling in
the carriage.

"I wish I could assist you," said the foreign youth; "unfortunately----"
he shrugged his shoulders, and again his eyes returned to Shelton.

The latter thrust his hand into his pocket.

"Can I be of any use?" he asked in English.

"Certainly, sir; you could render this young lady the greatest possible
service by lending her the money for a ticket."

Shelton produced a sovereign, which the young man took. Passing it to
the girl, he said:

"A thousand thanks--'voila une belle action'!"

The misgivings which attend on casual charity crowded up in Shelton's
mind; he was ashamed of having them and of not having them, and he stole
covert looks at this young foreigner, who was now talking to the girl in
a language that he did not understand. Though vagabond in essence, the
fellow's face showed subtle spirit, a fortitude and irony not found upon
the face of normal man, and in turning from it to the other passengers
Shelton was conscious of revolt, contempt, and questioning, that he could
not define. Leaning back with half-closed eyes, he tried to diagnose
this new sensation. He found it disconcerting that the faces and
behaviour of his neighbours lacked anything he could grasp and secretly
abuse. They continued to converse with admirable and slightly conscious
phlegm, yet he knew, as well as if each one had whispered to him
privately, that this shady incident had shaken them. Something
unsettling to their notions of propriety-something dangerous and
destructive of complacency--had occurred, and this was unforgivable.
Each had a different way, humorous or philosophic, contemptuous, sour, or
sly, of showing this resentment. But by a flash of insight Shelton saw
that at the bottom of their minds and of his own the feeling was the
same. Because he shared in their resentment he was enraged with them and
with himself. He looked at the plump, sleek hand of the woman with the