was that either my sagacity or my conscience
would come out damaged from that campaign. And no man will willingly
put himself in the way of moral damage. I did not want a war with Mrs
Fyne. I much preferred to hear something more of the girl. I said:

"And so she went away with that respectable ruffian." Mrs Fyne moved
her shoulders slightly--"What else could she have done?" I agreed with
her by another hopeless gesture. It isn't so easy for a girl like Flora
de Barral to become a factory hand, a pathetic seamstress or even a
barmaid. She wouldn't have known how to begin. She was the captive of
the meanest conceivable fate. And she wasn't mean enough for it. It is
to be remarked that a good many people are born curiously unfitted for
the fate awaiting them on this earth. As I don't want you to think that
I am unduly partial to the girl we shall say that she failed decidedly
to endear herself to that simple, virtuous and, I believe, teetotal
household. It's my conviction that an angel would have failed likewise.
It's no use going into details; suffice it to state that before the
year was out she was again at the Fynes' door. This time she was
escorted by a stout youth. His large pale face wore a smile of inane
cunning soured by annoyance. His clothes were new and the indescribable
smartness of their cut, a _genre_ which had never been obtruded on her
notice before, astonished Mrs Fyne, who came out into the hall with her
hat on; for she was about to go out to hear a new pianist (a girl) in a
friend's house. The youth addressing Mrs Fyne easily begged her not to
let "that silly thing go back to us any more." There had been, he said,
nothing but "ructions" at home about her for the last three weeks.
Everybody in the family was heartily sick of quarrelling. His governor
had charged him to bring her to this address and say that the lady and
gentleman were quite welcome to all there was in it. She hadn't enough
sense to appreciate a plain, honest English home and she was better out
of it.

The young, pimply-faced fellow was vexed by this job his governor had
sprung on him. It was the cause of his missing an appointment for that
afternoon with a certain young lady. The lady he was engaged to. But
he meant to dash back and try for a sight of her that evening yet "if he
were to burst over it."

"Good-bye, Florrie. Good luck to you--and I hope I'll never see your
face again."

With that he ran out in l