"You can have a book of their names and addresses." "But I know no one." "You needn't know them. You can go and call. Take those that live nearest--that's the way it is done." "Then will you give me the book?" "I'll go and get one." The boy returned a moment after with a small book, for which he demanded a shilling. Since she had come to London her hand had never been out of her pocket. She had her money with her; she did not dare leave it at home on account of her father. The clerk looked out the addresses for her and she tried to remember them--two were in Cumberland Place, another was in Bryanstone Square. In Cumberland Place she was received by an elderly lady who said she did not wish to judge anyone, but it was her invariable practice to give letters only to married women. There was a delicate smell of perfume in the room; the lady stirred the fire and lay back in her armchair. Once or twice Esther tried to withdraw, but the lady, although unswervingly faithful to her principles, seemed not indifferent to Esther's story, and asked her many questions. "I don't see what interest all that can be to you, as you ain't going to give me a letter," Esther answered. The next house she called at the lady was not at home, but she was expected back presently, and the maid servant asked her to take a seat in the hall. But when Esther refused information about her troubles she was called a stuck-up thing who deserved all she got, and was told there was no use her waiting. At the next place she was received by a footman who insisted on her communicating her business to him. Then he said he would see if his master was in. He wasn't in; he must have just gone out. The best time to find him was before half-past ten in the morning. "He'll be sure to do all he can for you--he always do for the good-looking ones. How did it all happen?" "What business is that of yours? I don't ask your business." "Well, you needn't turn that rusty." At that moment the master entered. He asked Esther to come into his study. He was a tall, youngish-looking man of three or four-and-thirty, with bright eyes and hair, and there was in his voice and manner a kindness that impressed Esther. She wished, however, that she had seen his mother instead of him, for she was more than ever ashamed of her condition. He seemed genuinely sorry for her, and regretted that he had given all his tickets away. Then a thought struck him, and he wrote a letter to one of his friends, a banker in Lincoln's Inn Fields. This gentleman, he said, was a large subscriber to the hospital, and would certainly give her the letter she required. He hoped that Esther would get through her trouble all right.