crusade with enthusiasm. The more they learned, from Carlisle and other sources, the more serious their cause became-and the deeper and more troubled their anger. They developed a certain sense of responsibility because fate-or God-had spared them from such suffering themselves.
In the course of their work, Charlotte and Emily visited Cal-lantha Swynford a third time, and it was then that Charlotte at last found herself alone with Titus. Emily was in the withdrawing room discussing some new area of knowledge with Callantha, while Charlotte had retired to the morning room to make copies of a list to be conveyed to other ladies who had become involved in their cause. She was sitting at the small rolltop desk, writing as neatly as she could, when she looked up and saw a rather pleasant-faced youth with golden freckles like Callantha's.
'Gqod afternoon,' she said conversationally. 'You must be Titus.' For a moment she had not recognized him; he .looked more composed here in his own house than he had in the witness box. His body had lost the graveness and reluctance it had expressed then.
'Yes, ma'am,' he replied formally. 'Are you one of Mama's friends?'
'Yes, I am. My name is Charlotte Pitt. We are working together to try to stop some very evil things that are going on. I expect you know about it.' It was partly intended to compliment him, make him feel adult and not excluded from knowledge, but also she recalled how she and Emily had frequently listened at the door to her mother's tea parties and afternoon
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callers. Sarah had considered herself too dignified for such a pursuit. Not that they had often heard anything nearly as startling or titillating to the adolescent imagination as the fight against child prostitution.
Titus was looking at her with frankness tinged with a degree of uncertainty. He did not want to admit ignorance; after all, she was a woman, and he was quite old enough to begin feeling like a man. Childhood with its nursery humiliations was rapidly being discarded.
'Oh, yes,' he said with a lift of his chin. Then curiosity gained the upper hand. This was a chance too good to waste. ' 'At least I know part of it. Of course, I have had my own studies to attend to as well, you know.'
'Of course,' she agreed, laying down her pen. Hope surged up inside her. It was still not too late-if Titus were to alter his evidence. She must not let him see her excitement.
She swallowed, and spoke quite casually. 'One has only so much time, and one must spend it wisely.'
Titus pulled up a small padded chair and sat down.
'What are you writing?' He had been well brought up and his manners were excellent. He made it sound like friendly interest, even very faintly patronizing, rather than anything as vulgar as curiosity.
She had had every intention of telling him anyway-his curiosity was a pale and infant thing compared with hers. She glanced down at the paper as if she had almost forgotten it.
'Oh, this? A list of wages that people get paid for picking apart old clothes so that other people can stitch them up again , into new ones.'
'Whatever for? Who wants clothes made up out of other people's old ones?'
'People who are too poor to buy proper new ones,' she answered, offering him the list she was copying from.
He took it and looked at it.
'That's not very much money.' He eyed the columns of pence. 'It doesn't seem like a very good job.'
'It isn't,' she agreed. 'People can't live on it and they often do other things as well.'
'I'd do something else all the time, if, I were poor.' He 252
handed it back to her. By poor, he meant someone who had to work at all, and she understood that. To him, money was
