"There's no room in this house for stray women at this time of night," said Mrs. Dimmage. Mr. Dimmage looked at us blankly. "But, I say," he said, "it's a favour Mr. Lacey's asking. You wouldn't deny Mr. Lacey anything? After all he's done for us, too;" and he went upstairs and engaged in whispered conversation. "You are good to me," said the girl, who still clung to Lacey's arm. "You'll come round in the morning, won't you? You're one of those that do keep their promises, aren't you?" "Yes, worse luck," said Lacey. "But you've not got your room yet." "Oh yes, I have," she said. "She's getting it ready now." The girl was right. Mrs. Dimmage was conquered, as Mr. Dimmage informed us with many winks and grimaces. "She's a good old soul," he said confidentially, "but damned partickler. But it'll be all right now." And so we left, Mr. Lacey promising to be there at half-past nine. "I call that a triumph for alcohol," he said, as we walked on. "If Dimmage had been a teetotaller we should never have got in. He would have been asleep, for one thing, and for another he would have had no courage to stand up to his wife. Alcohol is always called the friend of vice, but I have often found it the friend of virtue too." All this while Spanton had been looking grimly on; and when we came away he at last spoke. "It's a waste of time and energy, Mr. Lacey. All that you've done is to keep us out of our beds and reduce our store of vitality. There's no sense in helping a woman like that. She's no good to Society. She's a parasite. If you had an impulse to do something for her the best thing would have been to give her a shilling and leave her." "Oh, rubbish," said Lacey. "We must do as we're made. I couldn't leave a poor creature like that. Common humanity wouldn't let me." "That's because you don't reason," said Spanton. "If you had thought for a moment instead of being so impulsive you would have realized that you were doing no good--in fact, only being self-indulgent. We have no right to go about the world squandering our emotions on worthless strangers. We ought to control and direct them, to help those that are worth helping." "That's a counsel of perfection," said Lacey. "I am not perfect. I am just an ordinary person with a heart not made of logic or stone. If I see anyone in a hole I like to try and get them out. That's not self-indulgence, is it?" "Almost always," said Spanton. "Well, it's Christianity," said Lacey, "and that's good enough for me." "Yes, but Christianity won't work," said Spanton. "It's never worked yet. Look at our army. Look at our navy. Look at our archbishops' salaries. Is there any connection between them and Galilee?" "Rubbish," said Lacey. "Why, of course, Christianity works. It makes our conduct. And if you don't stop this vile talk I'll punch your head;" and so saying he stood still and began to take off his coat.