eyes, gave Shelton a shiver of disgust. His
companion's gaze rested long and subtly on her.

"Excuse me, monsieur," he said at length. "I think I know that lady!"
And, leaving his host, he crossed the room, bowed, accosted her, and sat
down. With Pharisaic delicacy, Shelton refrained from looking. But
presently Ferrand came back; the lady rose and left the restaurant; she
had been crying. The young foreigner was flushed, his face contorted; he
did not touch his wine.

"I was right," he said; "she is the wife of an old friend. I used to
know her well."

He was suffering from emotion, but someone less absorbed than Shelton
might have noticed a kind of relish in his voice, as though he were
savouring life's dishes, and glad to have something new, and spiced with
tragic sauce, to set before his patron.

"You can find her story by the hundred in your streets, but nothing
hinders these paragons of virtue"--he nodded at the stream of
carriages--"from turning up their eyes when they see ladies of her sort
pass. She came to London--just three years ago. After a year one of her
little boys took fever--the shop was avoided--her husband caught it, and
died. There she was, left with two children and everything gone to pay
the debts. She tried to get work; no one helped her. There was no money
to pay anyone to stay with the children; all the work she could get in
the house was not enough to keep them alive. She's not a strong woman.
Well, she put the children out to nurse, and went to the streets. The
first week was frightful, but now she's used to it--one gets used to
anything."

"Can nothing be done?" asked Shelton, startled.

"No," returned his companion. "I know that sort; if they once take to it
all's over. They get used to luxury. One does n't part with luxury,
after tasting destitution. She tells me she does very nicely; the
children are happy; she's able to pay well and see them sometimes. She
was a girl of good family, too, who loved her husband, and gave up much
for him. What would you have? Three quarters of your virtuous ladies
placed in her position would do the same if they had the necessary
looks."

It was evident that he felt the shock of this discovery, and Shelton
understood that personal acquaintance makes a difference, even in a
vagabond.

"This is her beat," said the young foreigner, as they passed the
illuminated crescent, where nightly the shadows of hypocrites and women
fall; an