“Mary Ann, where is Lizzie this afternoon?” she asked. There was a titter of laughter from the group of girls with her. “Ye will! will ye!” shrieked Mary Ann in a sudden fury. “I’ll bash yer ’ead in for ye, Florrie Stevens!” she cried to a girl whose laughter was the loudest. “What right ’ave ye to pass it on _my_ mate? I’ll tell ye, miss.” She appealed to Muriel. “Florrie’s none so straight as she can blacken poor Liz.” Muriel leaned against the table, feeling sick. “Hush, Mary, you must not talk like that,” she said at last. “What is the matter with Lizzie?” There was an uneasy silence. “The rest of you can go,” said Muriel. “Good-night, girls, go out quietly, please.” And the girls nodding to her in rough good-nature went out leaving her alone with Lizzie’s mate. Muriel crossed to her side and took her hand gently. “Poor Lizzie!” she said softly. “Poor, poor Lizzie!” Mary burst into tears. “’E ’adn’t ought to er done it, miss, ’e really ’adn’t!” she sobbed. “She was alwers a straight ’un, was Liz, an’ ’e promised ’er the lines an’ all, an’ now——” “Where is she, Mary?” said Muriel quietly. “She ain’t got nowheres to go to ’cept the ’orspital. They turned ’er off to-day at the factory; an’ ’er father’s beat ’er somethink hawful, miss, the blasted, drunken sot!” Muriel still held her hand. “I think we had better go and find her,” she said. “Ye won’t ’ave nought to do with the likes o’ ’er, will ye?” asked the girl in blank astonishment. “Yes, Mary; don’t you think Lizzie needs help?” “She needs it bad, miss.” “Then that’s what we’re going to give her,” said Muriel firmly. Mary still stood where she was. “Ye—ye won’t be rough on her, miss?” she begged in shamefaced tones. “’E treated ’er cruel bad.” “No, Mary, I won’t be rough on her. I’m not angry at all, only so _very, very_ sorry. It’s such a dreadful thing, isn’t it? Poor Lizzie, we must do all we can for her.” Mary’s big hand tightened over the slender fingers of their “wonderful lady,” who seemed to understand without being told, and never said more than she meant to do. They went out into the streets together. Lizzie was not hard to find. She was in a deserted yard near the factory, among heaps of refuse and mouldered iron. She had cried till she could cry no more, and lay in a sort of hopeless apathy, with wide, dull eyes staring straight in front of her. Muriel knelt down by her side, and Mary, with the unobtrusive delicacy many of the poorest have, turned away for a little. “Lizzie,” said Muriel, as if she were speaking to a little child, “Lizzie, I want you to come with me.” “Oh, my God!” said the girl. “Oh, my God!” “You will come, won’t you, Lizzie?” She put out her hand. “Don’t you dare touch me!” wailed the girl. “Who brought ye ’ere? Ye don’t know what I am. Oh, my God! my God!” “I know all about it, Lizzie, and you must get up now and come with me.”