next the A.B.C. in Wilton Road."

Frank nodded. Then, still urging her, he brought her up to the door and
tapped upon it.

There were footsteps inside.

"God bless you, Gertie. Be a good girl. I'll wait in the road for ten
minutes, so that you can call me if you want to."

Then he was gone as the door opened.

(II)

The next public appearance of Frank that I have been able to trace, was
in Westminster Cathedral. Now it costs an extra penny at least, I think,
to break one's journey from Hammersmith to Broad Street, and I imagine
that Frank would not have done this after what he had said to Gertie
about the difficulty connected with taking an omnibus, except for some
definite reason, so it is only possible to conclude that he broke his
journey at Victoria in an attempt to get at those gloves.

It seems almost incredible that Gertie should have spoken of her gloves
at such a moment, but it really happened. She told me so herself. And,
personally, on thinking over it, it seems to me tolerably in line
(though perhaps the line is rather unusually prolonged) with all that I
have been able to gather about her whole character. The fact is that
gloves, just then, were to her really important. She was about to appear
on the stage of family life, and she had formed a perfectly consistent
conception of her part. Gloves were an integral part of her
costume--they were the final proof of a sort of opulence and refinement;
therefore, though she could not get them just then, it was perfectly
natural and proper of her to mention them. It must not be thought that
Gertie was insincere: she was not; she was dramatic. And it is a fact
that within five minutes of her arrival she was down on her knees by her
mother, with her face hidden in her mother's lap, crying her heart out.
By the time she remembered Frank and ran out into the street, he had
been gone more than twenty minutes.

* * * * *

One of the priests attached to Westminster Cathedral happened to have a
pause about half-past nine o'clock in his hearing of confessions. He had
been in his box without a break from six o'clock, and he was extremely
tired and stiff about the knees. He had said the whole of his office
during intervals, and he thought he would take a little walk up and down
the south aisle to stretch his legs.

So he unlatched the little door of his confessional, leaving the light
burning in case someone else turned up; he slipp