t what, I supposed, was
her home, just opposite the Hadley box-factory. Later she told me
she didn't live there, and would not say where she lived. All the
time I talked to her her eyes were on her hands in her lap and,
though occasionally her lips would twist, she would say nothing. It
isn't a pleasant thing for a man to tell a girl his brother isn't a
safe person for her to go with, isn't one to be trusted, but I did
tell her. She's an odd little thing, all fire and flame, and to talk
frankly was to be brutal, but some day she should thank me. She
won't do it. She will hate me always for warning her. She knew as
well as I that marriage was out of the question, and yet she would
not promise to give Harrie up. When you saw me I was on my way for a
second talk with her. Meeting her on the street, I did not go to the
house, which she said she had just left, and as she would not tell me
where she was going, I had to do my talking as we walked."

"Did she promise to go away?" I looked into the fire, and the odd,
elfish, frightened face of the girl with the baby in her arms looked
at me out of the bed of coals. "Did she promise to go?" I repeated.

Selwyn shook his head. "She would promise nothing. I could get
nothing out of her, could not make her talk. Harrie has been a
durned fool--perhaps worse, I don't know. I tried to help her, and I
failed."

My fingers interlocked in nervous movements. Why hadn't the girl
told Selwyn? Why was she shielding Harrie? Would she tell me or
Mrs. Mundy what she would not tell Selwyn? I could send Mrs. Mundy
to her now--could break the silence which was mystifying to her.

Selwyn's hands moved as though to rid them of all further
responsibility. "You can't do anything with people like that. She'd
rather stay on here and take the chance of seeing Harrie than go away
from temptation. I'm sorry for her, but I'm through."

"No, you're not through. Perhaps we've just begun. Maybe
there--there were reasons of which she couldn't tell you that kept
her here." I looked at him, then away. "The night we heard her
fall, heard her cry out; the night we brought her in here, you met
some one across the street when you went away. Was it--Harrie?"

In Selwyn's face came flush that crimsoned it. "Yes, it was Harrie.
I don't know what happened. He had been drinking, but I can't
believe he struck her. If he did--my God!"

With shuddering movement Selwyn's elbows were on his