ecial permission? But she had expected that something would
happen--some accident, some miracle, she hardly knew what. That dream was
over now; she was alone; it was no use deceiving herself any longer.

She went home by the back streets, for people were peering into her face,
and she thought perhaps she had been crying. Late as it was, being New
Year's Eve, there were groups about every corner, and in some of the
flagged courts and alleys little girls were dancing to the music of the
Italian organ man or turning catherine-wheels. As she was going down Long
Acre a creachy voice saluted her.

"Evening, miss! Going home early, ain't ye?"

It was a miserable-looking woman in clothes that might have been stolen
from a scarecrow.

"Market full to-night, my dear? Look as if the dodgers had been at ye.
Live? I live off of the lane. But lor' bless ye, I've lived in a-many
places! Seen the day I lived in Soho Square. I was on the 'alls then. Got
a bit quisby on my top notes, you know, and took the scarlet
fever--soldier, I mean, my dear. But what's the use of frettin'?

"I likes to be jolly, and I allwiz is. Doing now? Selling flowers outside
the theatres--police is nasty if you've got nothink. Ain't I going home?
Soon as I get a drain of white satin. Wish you luck, my dear!"

As she came up to the shop in the Turnstile she could hear that it was
noisy with the voices of men and girls, so she turned back through
Lincoln's-Inn Fields and passed down to Fleet Street. It was approaching
twelve o'clock by this time, and streams of people were flowing in the
direction of St. Paul's Cathedral. Glory turned eastward also and allowed
herself to be carried along with the current which babbled and talked
like a river in the night.

Immediately in front of her there was a line of girls walking arm-in-arm
across the width of the pavement. They were factory girls in big hats
with ostrich feathers, and as they skipped along with their free step
they sang snatches of Salvation hymns and music-hall songs. All at once
they gave a shrill peal of laughter, and one of them cried, "Tell me what
it is and I'll give it a nyme." At the next moment a strange figure was
forging past their line, going westward with long strides. It was a man
in the habit of a monk, with long black cassock and broad-brimmed hat.
Glory caught a glimpse of his face as he passed her. It was a hungry,
eager face, with big, melancholy eyes, and it seemed to her that she m