s been sentenced to "one month," or whatever it was.

She's proud of it. Oh, how can she be? Proud of having spent so much
time in a revolting place like this! "I think," gazing round hopelessly
once more--"oh, I don't believe I shall ever be able to get the
disgusting, bleak, sordid look of it out of my mind, or the equally
sordid, bleak, disgusting smell of it out of my skirts and my hair!"

And I clasp my hands in my lap and close my eyes to shut out the look of
those awful walls and that fearful door.

I go over again the scene yesterday down at the "Refuge," when we were
arrested by that Scotland Yard man, and when I had just enough presence
of mind to ask him to allow us, before we went off with him, to leave
word with our friends.

A group of our friends were already gathered on the gravel path outside
the house under the lilacs. And there came running out at my call Miss
Vi Vassity, half a dozen of her Refugette girls, Miss Million's American
cousin, and--though I thought he must have taken his departure!--the
disgraced Mr. Burke.

In the kind of nightmare of explanations that ensued I remember most
clearly the high-pitched laugh of "London's Love" as she exclaimed,
"Charging them, are you, officer? I suppose that means I've got to come
round and bail them out in the morning, eh? Not the first time that Vi
has had that to do for a pal of hers? But, mind you, it's about the
first time that there's been all this smoke without any fire. Pinching
rubies? Go on. Go on home! Who says it? Rubies! Who's got it?" she
rattled on, while everybody stared at us.

The group looked like a big poster for some melodrama on at the Lyceum,
with three central figures and every other person in the play gaping in
the background.

"Oh, of course it's Miss Smith that collared Rats's old ruby," went on
Miss Vi Vassity encouragingly. "Sort of thing she would do. Brought it
down here to the other little gal, my friend, Miss Nellie Million, I
presume? And what am I cast for in this grand finale? Receiver of stolen
goods, eh? Bring out some more glasses, Emmie, will you?"--this to the
Acrobat Lady.

"What's yours, Sherlock Holmes?" to the detective. Then to Miss Million,
who was deathly pale and trembling: "A little drop of something short
will do you no harm, my girl. You shall have the car to 'go quietly' in,
in a minute or two----"

Here the American accent of Mr. Hiram P. Jessop broke in emphatically.

"There'll be no 'going