smoke curling from his pipe into the cold air. The cab emerged
from the crush, and to avoid it the cabman turned into the little black
streets which line the wharf on the east side of the bridge, then
doubled back towards Waterloo through Cornwall Road. There they met
again the stream of drays and carts; the horse went at a foot pace, and
Victoria gazed at the black rows of houses with the fear of a lost one.
So uniformly ugly these apartment houses, with their dirty curtains,
their unspeakable flowerpots in the parlour windows. Here and there
cards announcing that they did pinking within; further, the board of a
sweep; then a good corner house, the doctor's probably, with four steps
and a brass knocker and a tall slim girl on her hands and knees washing
the steps.

The cab came to an abrupt stop. Some distance ahead a horse was down on
the slippery road; shouts came from the crowd around it. Victoria idly
watched the girl, swinging the wet rag from right to left. Poor thing.
Everything in her seemed to cry out against the torture of womanhood.
She was a picture of dumb resignation as she knelt with her back to the
road. Victoria could see her long thin arms, her hands red and rigid
with cold, her broken-down shoes with the punctured soles emerging from
the ragged black petticoat.

There was a little surge in the crowd. The girl got up, and with an air
of infinite weariness stretched her arms. Then she picked up the pail
and bucket and turned towards the street. For the space of a second the
two women looked into one another's faces. Then Victoria gave a muffled
cry and jumped out of the cab. She seized with both hands the girl's
bare arms.

'Betty! Betty!' she faltered.

A burning blush covered the girl's face and her features twitched. She
made as if to turn away from the detaining hands.

'Vicky, what are you doing . . . what does this mean?' came Jack's voice
from the cab.

'Wait a minute, Jack. Betty, my poor little Betty. Why are you here? Why
haven't you written to me?'

'Leave me alone,' said Betty hoarsely.

'I won't leave you alone. Betty, tell me, what's this? Are you married?'

A look of pain came over the girl's face, but she said nothing.

'Look here, Betty, we can't talk here. Leave the bucket, come with me.
I'll see it's all right.'

'Oh, I can't do that. Oh, let me alone; it's too late.'

'I don't understand you. It's never too late. Now just get into the cab
and come with me.'

'I can