She turned on me the startled, woe-begone face of the pretty young girl I had met in Lincoln's Inn Fields on my visit to Morton, looked at me with earnest, scrutinizing eyes, opened her mouth as if to speak, and shut it again.
"I saw you come out of the house just now, and heard what the woman said. I thought perhaps you didn't know where to go."
"I don't," she said in a faint voice.
There came a gust of wind and a patter of rain, and I awoke to the fact that she was wearing a light summer frock.
"What on earth are we to do?" I cried. "I'm nearly broke for the time being. What a stupid fix!"
"I have no money at all, or I shouldn't have been turned out of my lodgings," said the girl bitterly.
Another burst of rain warned me to be quick and do something.
"At any rate, come out of this!" I said. And I hurried her back to the shelter of Vauxhall Station.
She came quickly, and we faced one another in the light of the station lamps. I saw that her face was haggard and gaunt, and her eyes were dim. I stared at her in my perplexity, trying to find a way to help her. I could only think of my spare bedroom at the Temple.
