Harold Mellesh, minor clerk in an accident assurance society, having occasion to be present at a certain police court to give evidence in the matter of a smashed car, stood riveted by manifestations of the law entirely new to him. His eyes, blue and rather like those of a baby, were opened very widely, his ingenuous forehead wrinkled, his curly hair was moving on his scalp, his fists involuntarily clenching his straw hat. He had seen four ladies of the town dealt with--three ‘jugged,’ and one fined--before his sensations reached their climax. Perhaps she was prettier than the others, certainly younger, and she was crying. “First time you’ve been here--two pounds, and ten shillings costs.” “But I haven’t any money, sir.” “Very well--fourteen days.” Tears streaking the remains of powder; a queer little sound--the sensations within young Mellesh simmered like a kettle coming to the boil. He touched a dark blue sleeve in front of him. “Here,” he said, “I’ll pay her fine.” He felt the glance of the policeman running over him like a chilly insect. “Friend of yours?” “No.” “I shouldn’t, then. She’ll be here again within the month.” The girl was passing, he saw the swallowing movement of her throat and said with desperation: “I don’t care. I’ll pay it.” The blue man’s glance crept about him clammily. “Come with me, then.” Young Mellesh followed him out. “Here,” said his policeman to the one in charge of the girl, “this gentleman’ll pay the fine.” Conscious of a confusion of glances, of his own cheeks reddening furiously, young Mellesh brought out his money--just two pounds fifteen; and, handing over the two pounds ten, he thought, ‘My hat! What would Alice say?’ He heard the girl’s gasped out “Ow! Thank you!” his policeman’s muttered “Waste o’ money!” and passed out into the street. Now that his feelings had given off that two pound ten’s worth of steam he felt chilly and dazed, as if virtue had gone out of him. A voice behind him said: “Thank you ever so much--it _was_ kind of you.” Raising his straw hat he stood uncomfortably, to let her pass. She pushed a card into his hand. “Any time you’re passing, I’ll be glad to see you; I’m very grateful.” “Not at all!” With a smile, confused like her own, he turned off towards his office. All day, among his accidents, he felt uncertain. Had he been a fool; had he been a hero? Sometimes he thought: ‘What brutes they are to those girls!’ and sometimes: ‘Don’t know; suppose they must do something about it.’ And he avoided considering how to explain the absence of two pounds ten shillings on which Alice had been reckoning. His soul was simple like the expressions on his face. He reached home at the usual hour--six-thirty. His home was grey and small and had a little bit of green up Chalk Farm way, where the Tube made all things possible.