't. I must give notice . . .' She looked about to weep.

'Come along.' Victoria increased the pressure on the girl's arms. Jack
stood up in the cab. He seemed as frightened as he was surprised.

'I say, Vicky . . .' he began.

'Sit down, Jack, she's coming with us. You don't mind if we don't go to
Ventnor?'

Jack's eyes opened in astonishment but he made no reply. Victoria pulled
Betty sharply down the steps.

'Oh, let me get my things,' she said weakly.

'No. They'd stop you. There, get in. Drive back to Elm Tree Place,
cabman.'

Half an hour later, lying at full length on the boudoir sofa, Betty was
slowly sipping some hot cocoa. There was a smile on her tear-stained
face. Victoria was analysing with horror the ravages that sorrow had
wrought on her. She was pretty still, with her china blue eyes and her
hair like pale filigree gold; but the bones seemed to start from her red
wrists, so thin had she become. Even the smile of exhausted content on
her lips did not redeem her emaciated cheeks.

'Betty, my poor Betty,' said Victoria, taking her hand. 'What have they
done to you?'

The girl looked up at the ceiling as if in a dream.

'Tell me all about it,' her friend went on, 'what has happened to you
since April?'

'Oh, lots of things, lots of things. I've had a hard time.'

'Yes, I see. But what happened actually? Why did you leave the P.R.R.?'

'I had to. You see, Edward . . .' The flush returned.

'Yes?'

'Oh, Vic, I've been a bad girl and I'm so, so unhappy.' Betty seized her
friend's hand to raise herself and buried her face on her breast. There
Victoria let her sob, gently stroking the golden hair. She understood
already, but Betty must not be questioned yet. Little by little, Betty's
weeping grew less violent and confidence burst from her pent up soul.

'He didn't get a rise at Christmas, so he said we'd have to wait . . . I
couldn't bear it . . . it wasn't his fault. I couldn't let him come down
in the world, a gentleman . . . he had only thirty shillings a week.'

'Yes, yes, poor little girl.'

'We never meant to do wrong . . . when baby was coming he said he'd
marry me . . . I couldn't drag him down . . . I ran away.'

'Betty, Betty, why didn't you write to me?'

The girl looked at her. She was beautiful in her reminiscence of
sacrifice.

'I was ashamed . . . I didn't dare . . . I only wanted to go where they
didn't know what I was. . . . I was mad. The baby came too early and it
died