“Oh, no, you didn’t,” I replied. “You are telling me one of the oldest stories of the trade. Now the truth is you are a silly little liar and you think you are going to frighten me, by telling me this, into giving you two or three pounds. You can save yourself the trouble. I don’t intend to do it.” I had every intention of giving her two or three if it suited my mood later, but she was not to know this now. My little Welsh girl was all at sea at once. Her powerless but really sweet eyes showed it. Something hurt--the pathos of her courage and endurance in the face of my contemptuous attitude. I had made fun of her obvious little lies and railed at her transparent tricks. “I’m a new experience in men,” I suggested. “Men! I don’t want to know anything more about them,” she returned with sudden fury. “I’m sick of them--the whole lot of them! If I could get out of this I would. I wish I need never see another man!” I did not doubt the sincerity of this outburst. But I affected not to believe her. “It’s true!” she insisted sullenly. “You say that, but that’s talk. If you wanted to get out, you would. Why don’t you get a job at something? You can work.” “I don’t know any trade now and I’m too old to learn.” “What nonsense! You’re not more than nineteen and you could do anything you pleased. You won’t, though. You are like all the others. This is the easy way. Come,” I said more gently, “put on your things and let’s get out of this.” Obediently and without a word she put on her coat and her bedraggled hat and we turned to the door. “Look here,” I said, “I haven’t meant to be unkind. And Heaven knows I’ve no right to throw stones at you. We are all in a bad mess in this world--you and I, and the rest. You don’t know what I’m talking about and it doesn’t matter. And now let’s find a good quiet restaurant where we can dine slowly and comfortably like two friends who have a lot to talk over.” In a moment she was all animation. The suggestion that I was going to act toward her as though she were a lady was, according to her standards, wildly unconventional. “Well, you’re funny,” she replied, laughing; “you really are funny.” And I could see that for once, in a long time, perhaps, the faintest touch of romance had entered this sordid world for her. As we came out, seeing that my attitude had changed so radically, she asked, “Would you get me a box of cigarettes? I haven’t any change.” “Surely,” I said, and we stepped into a tobacconist’s shop. From there we took a taxi to L.’s Corner House, which she seemed to regard as sufficiently luxurious; and from there--but I’ll tell this in detail. “Tell me,” I said, after she had given the order, picking something for herself and me; “you say you come from Wales. Tell me the name of a typical mining-town which is nearer London than some of the others--some place which is really poor and hard-worked.”