a bunk,' she remarked generally over her
shoulder.

'Mind Butty doesn't catch you,' said Victoria.

'Oh, he's all right,' said Gertie, 'we're pals.'

Fat Bella, chewing the cud at the table, shot a malevolent glance at
her. Gertie took no notice of her, tied on her veil with a snap, and
collected her steel purse, parasol, and long white cotton gloves.

'Bye, everybody,' she said, 'be good. Bye, Miss Prodgitt; wish yer luck
with yer perliceman, but you take my tip; all what glitters isn't
coppers.'

Before Miss Prodgitt could find a retort to this ruthless exposure of
her idyll, Gertie had vanished down the stairs. Lottie dreamily turned
to the last page of _London Opinion_ and vainly attempted to sound the
middle of her back; she was clearly disturbed by the advertisement of a
patent medicine. Victoria watched her amusedly.

They were not bad sorts, any of them. Lottie, in her sharp way, had been
a kindly guide in the early days, explained the meaning of 'checks,'
shown her how to distinguish the inflexion on the word 'bill,' that
tells whether a customer wants the bill of fare or the bill of costs,
imparted too the wonderful mnemonics which enable a waitress to sort
four simultaneous orders. Gertie, the only frankly common member of the
staff, barked ever but bit never. As for Bella, poor soul, she
represented neutrality. The thread of her life was woven; she would
marry her policeman when he got his stripe, and bear him dull company to
the grave. Gertie would no doubt look after herself. Not being likely to
marry, she might keep straight and end as a manageress, probably save
nothing and end in the workhouse, or go wrong and live somehow, and then
die as quickly as a robin passing from the sunshine to the darkness.
Lottie was a greater problem; in her intelligence lay danger; she had
imagination, which in girls of her class is a perilous possession. Her
enthusiasm might take her anywhere, but very much more likely to misery
than to happiness. However, as she was visibly weak-chested, Victoria
took comfort in the thought that the air of the underground smoking-room
would some day settle her troubles.

Victoria did not follow up her own line of life because as for all young
things, there was no end for her--nothing but mist ahead, with a rosy
tinge in it. Sufficient was it that she was in receipt of a fairly
regular income, not exactly overworked, neither happy nor miserable.
Apart from the two hours rush in the