ck to Kennington Road by omnibus, riding outside, her eyes and hair
doing execution upon a young man in a very high collar, who was, she
saw, terribly tempted to address her, but, happily for himself, could
not pluck up courage. Polly liked to be addressed by strange young men;
experience had made her so skilful in austere rebuke.

She rested in her bedroom, as stuffy and disorderly a room as could
have been found in all Kennington Road. Moggie, the general, was only
allowed to enter it in the occupant's presence, otherwise who knew what
prying and filching might go on? She paid a very low rent, thanks to
Mrs. Bubb's good nature, but the strained relations between them made
it possible that she would have to leave, and she had been thinking
to-day that she could very well afford a room in a better
neighbourhood; not that, all things considered, she desired to quit
this house, but Mrs. Bubb took too much upon herself. Mrs. Bubb was the
widow of a police officer; one of her children was in the Police
Orphanage at Twickenham, and for the support of each of the others she
received half a crown a week. This, to be sure, justified the good
woman in a certain spirit of pride; but when it came to calling names
and making unpleasant insinuations--If a young lady cannot have a
harmless and profitable secret, what is the use of being a young lady?

On the way to her duties at the theatre, about seven o'clock, she
entered a little stationer's shop in an obscure street, and asked with a
smile whether any letter had arrived for her. Yes, there was one
addressed in a careless hand to "Miss Robinson." This, in another
obscure street hard by she opened. On half a sheet of notepaper was
printed with pen and ink the letters _W. S. T._--that was all. Polly
had no difficulty in interpreting this cipher. She tore up envelope and
paper, and walked briskly on.

There was but a poor "house" this evening. Commission on programmes
would amount to very little indeed; but the young gentleman with the
weak eyes, who came evening after evening, and must have seen the
present piece a hundred times or so, gave her half a crown, weeping
copiously from nervousness as he touched her hand. He looked about
seventeen, and Polly, who always greeted him with a smile of sportive
condescension, wondered how his parents or guardians could allow him to
live so recklessly.

She left half an hour before the end of the performance with a girl who
accompanied her