might have passed
for that of culture with a less inspired observer than Paul. A faint
light from the head lamp of the cab which had drawn up beside the
pavement, touched her face. She was young and would have been pretty if
the bloom of her cheeks and the redness of her lips had not been due to
careful make-up; for her features were good and, as Paul recognised,
experiencing a sensation of chill at his heart, not unlike those of his
wife. If he could have imagined a debauched Yvonne, she would have
looked like this waif of the night who now stood bending beneath the
shelter of her wet umbrella upon which the rain pattered, ruefully
rubbing a slim silken-clad ankle.

"I can only offer one reparation," Paul persisted. "You must allow me to
drive you home."

The cabman coughed dryly, reaching around to open the door. "It's a
rotten night, sir," he said, "and I'm short of petrol. Make it a double
fare."

"Really," declared the girl with that exaggerated drawling accent, "I
can manage quite well."

"Please don't argue," said Paul, smiling and assisting her into the cab.
"Tell me where you want to go."

She gave an address near Torrington Square and Paul got in beside her.
"Now," he said as the cab moved off, "I want to talk to you. You must
not be angry with me but just listen! In the first place I know I
collided with you roughly and I am sorry, but you deliberately got in my
way and I did not hurt your ankle at all!"

"What do you mean?" she cried, the accent more overdone than ever. "I
thought you were a gentleman!"

"Perhaps you were wrong. It is one of the most difficult things in the
world to recognise a gentleman. But we can all recognise the truth and I
want you to admit that I have told you the truth."

"Did you get me in here to start the Bible-banging business?" inquired
the girl, her factitious refinement deserting her. "Because if you did
I'm getting out."

"You are going to do nothing of the kind," said Paul, patting her
white-gloved hand. "You are going to tell me all about yourself and I am
going to show you your mistakes and see if some of them cannot be put
right."

"You're nothing to do with the Salvation Army, are you?" she asked
sarcastically. But already she was half enslaved by the voice and manner
of Paul. "Do you think I don't know my mistakes? Do you think preaching
can do me any good? Are you one of those fools who think all women like
me only live the way we do because we can't see