“The tears were still running on her cheeks. I saw her make some attempt to brush them away.
“ ‘Gosh! How pathetic,’ I thought, ‘how utterly rotten. And here am I dissatisfied with my life for no reason.’ Acting on an impulse I touched her arm. ‘Look here,’ I said, ‘I know it’s no business of mine. I’ve no right to speak to you at all. But—is anything the matter? Can I help you? It’s such a filthy night. …’ She pulled out a wretched little end of handkerchief, and began to blow her nose. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said, ‘I don’t know what to do.’ She was crying again. ‘I’ve never been in London before,’ she said, ‘I’ve come up from Shropshire. I was to be married—and there’s no address, there’s nothing—he’s left me. I don’t know where to go.’
“ ‘There’s a man been following me,’ she said timidly, glancing over her shoulder, ‘he tried to speak to me twice. He was horrid. I didn’t understand. …’
“Good heavens! I thought, she was scarcely more than child.
“ ‘You can’t stand here,’ I said. ‘Don’t you know of anywhere? Have you no friends? Isn’t there a Home you could go to?’ She shook her head, her mouth worked queerly at the corners.
“ ‘It’s all right,’ she said, ‘don’t bother.’ It was no use, I couldn’t let her go, not with that frightened gleam in her eyes, in the pouring rain.
“ ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Will you trust me to look after you—just for the moment? Will you come and have something to eat? Then we’ll find a place for you to go.’ She looked up at me for a moment, straight in my eyes, and then she nodded her head gravely. ‘I think I can trust you,’ she said. She said this in such a way—I don’t know, it seemed to go straight to my heart. I felt very old and very wise, and she was such a child.
“She put her hand on my arm, still a little scared, a little doubting. I smiled at her. ‘That’s the way,’ I said. We turned back again down Wardour Street. There was a crowd of people in Lyons. She clung tight to my arm, bewildered by them. ‘Don’t you be afraid,’ I said. We sat down at a marble-topped table. She chose eggs and bacon and coffee. She ate as though she were starving.
“ ‘Is this your first meal today?’ I asked. She flushed and bit her lips, ashamed.
“ ‘Yes,’ she said. I could have cut my tongue out.
“ ‘Supposing you tell me,’ I said, ‘just what it is that has happened.’
“The food had pulled her together, she had lost some of her shyness; she was no longer tearful, hysterical.
“ ‘I was to be married,’ she told me. ‘Back in Shropshire he seemed so fond of me, so attentive to me and mother. Why, he was quite a gentleman. We live on a little farm, mother and I, and my sister. It’s quiet, you know, away from the big towns. I used to take the produce into Tonsbury on market days. That’s where I met him. He was a traveller from a firm in London. He had a little car, too. Nothing poor or shabby about him—constantly with his hand in his pocket. He was always coming to Tonsbury for his firm, and then he would visit us. Then he started courting me—he was ever so handsome. It was all so proper, too. He asked mother for her consent, and the date and everything was arranged.
“ ’Last Sunday he was up home as usual, laughing and teasing, saying how soon we would have a house of our own. He was to give up travelling, and get a settled job at the firm, and we were to live in London. He insisted on the wedding being in London, too, which was the one upsetting thing, as my mother and sister couldn’t leave home.
“ ‘Yesterday was to have been my wedding day.’ I saw she was ready to burst into tears again. I leant across the table and patted her hand.
“ ‘There, there,’ I said stupidly.
“ ‘We motored up Tuesday in his little car,’ she went on, ‘and we came to London yesterday. He had taken rooms at some hotel.’ Her words trailed off; I saw that she was looking at her plate.
“ ‘And the blackguard’s left you,’ I said gently.
“ ‘He said we were to be married,’ she whispered. ‘I thought it was all right. I didn’t understand.’ The tears sprang in her eyes. ‘He went this morning, early, before I was awake. The people at the hotel were cruel—I found out then it was a bad place.’ She fumbled for her handkerchief, but I gave her mine.
“ ‘I couldn’t go back there, I daren’t ask them for a thing,’ she told me, ‘and I’ve been looking for him all day, but I know it’s no use now. How can I go home? What will they say? What will they think?’ She buried her face in her hands. Poor little thing! she couldn’t have been more than eighteen. I tried to keep my voice as gentle as possible.
“ ‘Have you any money?’ I said.
“ ‘I’ve seven-and-eightpence,’ she said. ‘He told me I wouldn’t need anything much.’
“I felt that this was the most impossible situation that had happened to anyone at any time. And there she sat looking at me, the tears in her eyes, waiting for me to suggest something.
“Suddenly I became very matter-of-fact. ‘You had better make shift at my lodgings for tonight,’ I said, ‘and in the morning I’ll buy you a ticket and pack you off to Shropshire.’
“ ‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ she said awkwardly, ‘I don’t know you.
“ ‘Nonsense,’ I said firmly. ‘You will be perfectly safe with me.’
“We had some slight argument, of course, but finally I persuaded her.
“She was tired, too. I took her home in a taxi—she nearly fell asleep with her
