utter, and the slatternly crowd of loiterers. Then she looked up at
me with a faint smile.

"London--is not all like this, then?" she remarked.

I shook my head.

"This is a back street, almost a slum," I said. "I daresay you have
lived in the country always, and just at first it does not seem possible
that there should be anything beautiful about a great city. When you get
a little older I think that you will see things differently. The beauty
of a great city thronged with men and women is a more subtle thing than
the mere joy of meadows and hills and country lanes--but it exists all
the same. And now," I continued, stopping short upon the pavement, "I
must take you to your friends. Tell me where they live. You have the
address, perhaps."

"What friends?" she asked me, with wide-open eyes.

"You told the superintendent of police that you had friends in London,"
I reminded her.

Then she smiled at me--a very dazzling smile, which showed all her white
teeth, and which seemed somehow to become reflected in her dark blue
eyes.

"But I meant you!" she exclaimed. "I thought that you knew that! There
is no one else. You are my friend, I know very well, for you came and
spoke kindly to me when I was terrified--terrified to death."

The shadow of gravity rested only for a moment upon her face. She
laughed gaily at my consternation.

"Then where am I to take you?" I asked.

"Stupid," she murmured; "I am going with you, of course. Why--why--you
don't mind, do you?" she asked, with a sudden catch in her throat.

I felt like a brute, and I hastened to make what amends I could. I
smiled at her reassuringly.

"Mind! Of course I don't mind," I declared. "Only, you see, there are
three of us--all men--and we live together. I was afraid----"

"I shall not mind that at all," she interrupted cheerfully. "If they are
nice like you, I think that it will be delightful. There were only girls
at the convent, you know, and the sisters, and a few masters who came to
teach us things, but they were not allowed to speak to us except to give
out the lessons, and they were very stupid. I do not think that I shall
be any trouble to you at all. I will try not to be."

I looked at her--a little helplessly. After all, though she was tall for
her years, she was only a child. Her dress was of an awkward length, her
long straight fringe and plaited hair the coiffure of the schoolroom.
The most surprising thing of all in connection with her