in a friendly manner.

"Yes, Mrs Fyne," I said, smiling no longer. "I see. It would have
been horrible even on the stage."

"Ah!" she interrupted me--and I really believe her change of attitude
back to folded arms was meant to check a shudder. "But it wasn't on the
stage, and it was not with her lips that she laughed."

"Yes. It must have been horrible," I assented. "And then she had to go
away ultimately--I suppose. You didn't say anything?"

"No," said Mrs Fyne. "I rang the bell and told one of the maids to go
and bring the hat and coat out of the cab. And then we waited."

I don't think that there ever was such waiting unless possibly in a jail
at some moment or other on the morning of an execution. The servant
appeared with the hat and coat, and then, still as on the morning of an
execution, when the condemned, I believe, is offered a breakfast, Mrs
Fyne, anxious that the white-faced girl should swallow something warm
(if she could) before leaving her house for an interminable drive
through raw cold air in a damp four-wheeler--Mrs Fyne broke the awful
silence: "You really must try to eat something," in her best resolute
manner. She turned to the "odious person" with the same determination.
"Perhaps you will sit down and have a cup of coffee, too."

The worthy "employer of labour" sat down. He might have been awed by
Mrs Fyne's peremptory manner--for she did not think of conciliating him
then. He sat down, provisionally, like a man who finds himself much
against his will in doubtful company. He accepted ungraciously the cup
handed to him by Mrs Fyne, took an unwilling sip or two and put it down
as if there were some moral contamination in the coffee of these
"swells." Between whiles he directed mysteriously inexpressive glances
at little Fyne, who, I gather, had no breakfast that morning at all.
Neither had the girl. She never moved her hands from her lap till her
appointed guardian got up, leaving his cup half full.

"Well. If you don't mean to take advantage of this lady's kind offer I
may just as well take you home at once. I want to begin my day--I do."

After a few more dumb, leaden-footed minutes while Flora was putting on
her hat and jacket, the Fynes without moving, without saying anything,
saw these two leave the room.

"She never looked back at us," said Mrs Fyne. "She just followed him
out. I've never had such a crushing impression of the miserable
dependence of girls--of women