“If you had a father or a brother they would do it instead,” said Fraser, gently; “it’s just because you’ve got nobody else that I’m looking after you.” Miss Tyrell, who had softened slightly, stiffened again with temper. “You?” she said, hotly. “What right have you to trouble yourself about me?” “No right at all,” said Fraser, cheerfully, “but I’m going to do it. If you’ve left the Wheelers, where are you going?” Miss Tyrell, gazing straight in front of her, made no reply. “Won’t you tell me?” persisted the other. “I’m not going anywhere,” said Poppy, stopping suddenly and facing him. “I’ve got a new berth next Monday, and to-morrow morning I am going to see them to ask them to employ me at once.” “And to-night?” suggested the other. “I shall go for a walk,” said the girl. “Now that you know all about my concerns, will you please go?” “Walk?” repeated Fraser. “Walk? What, all night? You can’t do it—you don’t know what it’s like. Will you let me lend you some money? You can repay me as soon as you like.” “No, thank you.” “For my sake?” he suggested. Miss Tyrell raised her eyebrows. “I’m a bad walker,” he explained. The reply trembling on Miss Tyrell’s lips realised that it was utterly inadequate to the occasion, and remained unspoken. She walked on in silence, apparently oblivious of the man by her side, and when he next spoke to her made no reply. He glanced at a clock in a baker’s shop as they passed, and saw that it was just seven. In this sociable fashion they walked along the Commercial Road and on to Aldgate, and then, passing up Fenchurch Street, mingled with the crowd thronging homewards over London Bridge. They went as far as Kennington in this direction, and then the girl turned and walked back to the City. Fraser, glancing at the pale profile beside him, ventured to speak again. “Will you come down to Wapping and take my cabin for the night?” he asked, anxiously. “The mate’s away, and I can turn in fo’ard—you can have it all to yourself.” Miss Tyrell, still looking straight in front of her, made no reply, but with another attempt to shake off this pertinacious young man of the sea quickened her pace again. Fraser fell back. “If I’m not fit to walk beside you, I’ll walk behind,” he said, in a low voice; “you won’t mind that?” In this way they walked through the rapidly thinning streets. It was now dark, and most of the shops had closed. The elasticity had departed from Miss Tyrell’s step, and she walked aimlessly, noting with a sinking at the heart the slowly passing time. Once or twice she halted from sheer weariness, Fraser halting too, and watching her with a sympathy of which Flower would most certainly have disapproved if he had seen it.