The fitter sighed: "I will do my best."

"I shall rely on you. Mrs. Stephen Dallison, 76, The Old Square."

Going downstairs she thought: "That poor girl looked very tired; it's a
shame they give them such long hours!" and she passed into the street.

A voice said timidly behind her: "Westminister, marm?"

"That's the poor old creature," thought Cecilia Dallison, "whose nose is
so unpleasant. I don't really think I--" and she felt for a penny in her
little bag. Standing beside the "poor old creature" was a woman clothed
in worn but neat black clothes, and an ancient toque which had once known
a better head. The wan remains of a little bit of fur lay round her
throat. She had a thin face, not without refinement, mild, very clear
brown eyes, and a twist of smooth black hair. Beside her was a skimpy
little boy, and in her arms a baby. Mrs. Dallison held out two-pence for
the paper, but it was at the woman that she looked.

"Oh, Mrs. Hughs," she said, "we've been expecting you to hem the
curtains!"

The woman slightly pressed the baby.

"I am very sorry, ma'am. I knew I was expected, but I've had such
trouble."

Cecilia winced. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, m'm; it's my husband."

"Oh, dear!" Cecilia murmured. "But why didn't you come to us?"

"I didn't feel up to it, ma'am; I didn't really--"

A tear ran down her cheek, and was caught in a furrow near the mouth.

Mrs. Dallison said hurriedly: "Yes, yes; I'm very sorry."

"This old gentleman, Mr. Creed, lives in the same house with us, and he
is going to speak to my husband."

The old man wagged his head on its lean stalk of neck.

"He ought to know better than be'ave 'imself so disrespectable," he said.

Cecilia looked at him, and murmured: "I hope he won't turn on you!"

The old man shuffled his feet.

"I likes to live at peace with everybody. I shall have the police to 'im
if he misdemeans hisself with me!... Westminister, sir?" And, screening
his mouth from Mrs. Dallison, he added in a loud whisper: "Execution of
the Shoreditch murderer!"

Cecilia felt suddenly as though the world were listening to her
conversation with these two rather seedy persons.

"I don't really know what I can do for you, Mrs. Hughs. I'll speak to
Mr. Dallison, and to Mr. Hilary too."

"Yes, ma'am; thank you, ma'am."

With a smile which seemed to deprecate its own appearance, Cecilia
grasped her skirts and crossed the road. "I hope I wasn't
unsympathetic," sh