“Indeed: then perhaps you received a telegram from me this morning,—Mr. Levinger?” “Yes, sir, it came safely, and I ordered some things on the strength of it. Will you be so good as to step in, sir? I have heard poor Joan speak of you, though I never could make out what you were to her from her father down.” “In a certain sense, madam, I am her guardian. Will you allow me to help you with that door? And now, how is she?” “About as bad as she can be, sir; and if you are her guardian, I only wish that you had looked after her a little before, for I think that being so lonesome has preyed upon her mind, poor dear. And now perhaps you’ll step upstairs into her sitting-room, making as little noise as possible. The doctor and the nurse are with her, and you may wish to see them; it’s not a catching fever, so you can come up safely.” He bowed, and followed Mrs. Bird to the little room, where she offered him a chair. Through the thin double doors that separated them from the bedchamber he could hear the sound of whispering, and now and again of a voice, still strong and full, that spoke at random. “Don’t cut my hair,” said the voice: “why do you cut my hair? He used to praise it; he’d never know me without my hair.” “That’s her raving, poor love. She’ll go on in this kind of way for hours.” Mr. Levinger turned a shade paler. He was a sensitive man, and these voices of the sick room pained him; moreover, he may have found a meaning in them. “Perhaps you will give me a few details, Mrs. Bird,” he said, drawing his chair close to the window. “You might tell me first how Joan Haste came to be your lodger.” So Mrs. Bird began, and told him all the story, from the day when she had seen Joan sitting upon her box on the opposite doorstep till the present hour that is, she told it to him with certain omissions. Mr. Levinger listened attentively. “I was very wrong,” he said, when she had finished, “to allow her to come to London in this fashion. I reproach myself much about it, but the girl was headstrong and —there were reasons. It is most fortunate that she should have found so kind a friend as you seem to have been to her.” “Yes, sir,” answered Mrs. Bird severely, “I must say that I think you were wrong. London is not a place to throw a young woman like Joan into to sink or to swim, even though she may have given you some trouble; and if anything happens to her I think that you will always have it on your conscience.” And she put her head on one side and looked at him through her spectacles.