“You beastly coward!” cried a voice he knew, and all panic-stricken he picked himself up and fled. Colin had started to pursue, when a groan from the stricken one recalled him. He picked up the letter, deeming that it must be of importance, stuffed it into his pocket, and proceeded to do what he could for Sam. Perhaps, after all, his student days had not been wholly wasted. But Sam was sore hurt. His home was a fiery furnace, and he neither knew nor cared. CHAPTER XII ON the following afternoon Kitty and her new friend were lounging in the latter’s sitting-room, one of the four apartments of a little, old-fashioned, top flat in Long Acre. The situation of Miss Risk’s home had its drawbacks, but it was a most convenient one for her business, and she had given the house itself a charm and comfort not to be despised. “But I can’t go on being your guest indefinitely,” Kitty was saying from her seat at the open window. Hilda, stretched on the couch, smiled and then yawned. She had had a hard morning’s work, and the heat was oppressive. “You have been here for about thirty hours,” she returned in a lazy voice. “Don’t say it seems like years.” “Oh, you know what I mean, Miss Risk—” “I think you might call me by my pretty name.” “I’d like to,” said Kitty diffidently, “but—” “I believe you’re afraid of me, Kitty!” “I’m not really, but—” “If you say ‘but’ again, I’ll go to sleep! Now listen, Kitty! You have told me a good many things about yourself, so you can no longer argue that I know nothing about you. I know far more about you than you know about me. Isn’t that so?” “Perhaps it is, Miss—Hilda.” “Well, then, if you keep talking about leaving me, the only conclusion I can draw is that you don’t like staying with me—” “Oh, no, no!” “—or that you are absurdly proud.” Kitty hung her head. Hilda gave a little nod of understanding. “Kitty,” she said kindly, “won’t you trust me and let me protect you? I’ve never had any one to protect except myself. Come and sit beside me.” The younger girl came slowly over to the couch, faltered, and fell on her knees, crying—“And no one has ever protected me, or wanted to do it, before.” Hilda took her in her arms—strong shapely arms they were. “Poor little soul!” she whispered; “can’t you see not only that I want you to stay here but that for your own safety’s sake you must stay here until, at least, you know something of London, and have found employment and made friends? When all that has happened, you shall be free to choose as you think best, but till then you’re my prisoner, whether you like it or not!” After a little while Kitty said tremulously, “Don’t be offended, Hilda, but—but if only you would allow me to—to pay my share.” “Well,” answered Miss Risk in a most business-like tone, assumed mainly to satisfy the other, “we may come to terms later on—if you promise now to be my guest for a month.” “I never knew there was a girl like you in the world!”