‘We must be off,’ said Wentworth, ‘or we shall be run in. Which way are you walking? May I see you home?’ Gradually he was being interested in his companion. Gradually he began to recall to himself the long-lost vision of her lovely face. He had never forgotten it, and here, where he could have least expected, it had come to him once more. Fate had once more thrown her in his way. Was he to miss his chance? he asked himself. ‘Certainly not,’ was the reply of the inward monitor; ‘you would be a fool if you did.’ As he watched her the light seemed to fade out of her countenance, and over it came a cloud. ‘I am afraid you are tired,’ said he; ‘let me offer you some refreshment.’ ‘No, no; I can’t eat anything.’ ‘Well, then, let me see you home?’ The question recalled Rose to herself. She had no home. She had rushed away in sorrow, and anger, and despair. In all that wilderness of bricks and mortar she had no home. She stood there homeless, friendless, and alone. She hardly felt safe. As they stood talking, men from the clubs, the theatre and dinner-party passed and repassed, staring at her impudently all the while. As soon as Wentworth left her she felt they would seek her, as the lion does his prey. At length she said in a saddened tone: ‘I have no home—no friends. I know not where to go.’ Wentworth was shocked. And then she told him her story. She felt that she was safe, that London life had not corrupted him, that there was a true manhood in him, after all. There was a quiet hotel just by; he took the poor girl there, but the landlady objected. They did not take in single young ladies there who had no luggage, that guarantee of respectability, and who had no recommendation. Had she been known to any of the families who had been in the habit of using her hotel, the case would have been different. As it was they had not an apartment to spare. They tried other establishments equally in vain. Rose began to realize at last all the dangers and horrors of her situation. There are disadvantages connected with our refined and highly-developed system of civilization. Out on the prairie she might have found shelter for the night in the rude Indian hut, but in Christian London what can a poor girl do? Is it not a fact that a pretty girl cannot walk down Regent Street in broad daylight alone without being insulted by some hoary old debauchee or other?