“Well,” he said, “I can give you enough to get up to London with, and a little over. But that’s all, I’m afraid. And, forgive me, I’m very busy.” He stood up. The man rose also. “I don’t want to say anything about my wife; you’ll forgive my mentioning it, but there’s not a lady in England that’s her equal at makin’ babies’ slippers.” “Indeed!” said Ivor. “Well, here you are!” And he held out some pound notes. The man took the notes; one of his trouser-legs was pitiably patched. “I’m sure I’m more than grateful----” he said; and looking at Ivor as if he expected to be contradicted, added: “I can’t say better than that, can I?” “No,” said Ivor, and opened the door. “I’ll be ready to repay you as soon as ever I can--if you understand my meaning.” “Yes,” said Ivor. “Good-day! Good-day, Mrs. ----! Good-bye, little dog!” One by one the three passed him and went out into the mist. Ivor saw them trailing down the road, shut the outer door, returned to his chair, sighed profoundly, and took up his pen. When he had written three pages, and it was getting too dusk to see, his housekeeper came in. “There’s a boy from the Black Cow, sir, come to say they want you down there.” “Want _me_?” “Yes, sir. That couple--the boy says they don’t know what to do with them. They gave your name as being a friend.” “Good Lord!” “Yes, sir; and the landlord says they don’t seem to know where they come from like.” “Heavens!” said Ivor. He got up, however, put on his overcoat, and went out. In the lighted doorway of the Black Cow stood the landlord. “Sorry to have troubled you, sir, but really I can’t tell how to deal with these friends of yours.” Ivor frowned. “I only saw them for the first time this afternoon. I just gave them money to go up to London with. Are they drunk?” “Drunk!” said the landlord. “Well, if I’d known the man was half gone when he came in--of course I’d never---- As to the woman, she sits and smiles. I can’t get them to budge, and it’s early closin’----” “Well,” muttered Ivor, “let’s look at them!” And he followed the landlord in. On the window-seat in the bar parlour those two were sitting, with mugs beside them, and the dog asleep on the feet of the woman, whose lips were unbuttoned in a foolish smile. Ivor looked at the man; his face was blank and beatific. Specimens of a damp and doleful world, they now seemed almost blissful. “Mist’ Ivor?” said the man suddenly. “Yes,” said Ivor, “but I thought you wanted to go up to London. The station’s not half a mile.” “Cert’nly--go up to London.” “Come along, then; I’ll show you the way.” “Ve’y good, we can walk, if you understand my meaning.” And the man stood up, the dog and the woman also. All three passed unsteadily out. The man walked first, then the woman, then the dog, wavering into the dusky mist. Ivor followed, praying that they might meet no traffic. The man’s voice broke the silence in front. “Hen’y Ivor!” Ivor closed up nervously.