Without a word, the girl rose and preceded him to the door. Hughie opened it for her, and they both passed through and hurried down a narrow passage, which gave direct into the alley at the back of the establishment. Once outside, Hughie took the girl's arm and fairly ran, never pausing till they reached the brightly lighted sea-front. He had an idea that a cheerful and crowded thoroughfare would prove more salubrious than deserted and ill-lit byways. Once clear of their late surroundings the two slackened pace, and Hughie surveyed his charge with comical perplexity. "Now what am I to do with _you_?" he inquired. "Take me home," said the girl, sobbing. Her pluck and fortitude, having brought her dry-eyed through the worst of the conflict, had now taken their usual leave of absence, and she was indulging very properly in a few reactionary and comforting tears. "Where do you live?" asked Hughie. "Brooklyn." "That's a matter for a trolley-car. Come along." He took her arm again, rather diffidently this time,--his old masculine self-consciousness was returning,--and hurried off to what the Coney Islanders call a "deepo." Here they ensconced themselves in the corner of a fairly empty car, and started on their twenty-mile run, _viâ_ Sheepshead Bay and other delectable spots, to Brooklyn Bridge. As soon as the car started, Hughie turned to his companion. "Look here," he said bluntly. "I know a lady when I meet one. What were you doing in that place at all? You are English, too." "Yes. I can't blame you for wondering. I'll tell you. I come from London. My father was a small schoolmaster in Sydenham. He--he was unfortunate, and died three years ago, and I was left alone in the world, with hardly two sixpences to rub together. Just as things were looking none too promising for me, I met and married"--she flushed proudly--"one of the best men that ever stepped--Dennis Maclear. He is an electrical engineer. We came out here together to make our fortunes, and settled in New York. We were beginning to do fairly well after a long struggle, when one day Dennis crushed his left arm and leg in a cog-wheel arrangement of some kind, and for three months he has not been able even to get out of bed without help. Bad luck, wasn't it? He is getting better slowly, and some day, the doctor says, he will be able to get about again. But--well, savings don't last for ever, you know; so I--" "I see," said Hughie; "the upkeep of the establishment has devolved on you in the meanwhile?" "Yes. Piano-playing is about the only accomplishment I possess. A girl friend of mine told me she was giving up her billet at old Bercotti's, and asked if I would like it. She wouldn't recommend it to most girls, she said, but perhaps it would suit me all right, being married. I took it; but as you saw, my being married wasn't sufficient protection after all." She shuddered, for she was very young, and badly shaken; but presently she smiled bravely.