He took hold of the railings with both hands, and tried to shake them in an effort of thought. "What's the young chap's name?" "I don't know." "There you are!"--with gloomy triumph--"don't that prove the truth of everything I've been saying?" "He doesn't know mine." "That isn't an argument." "Quite so," the girl agreed. "It's only a statement of fact. He will tell me his name directly I ask him, and I shall tell him my name the moment he asks me." "No occupation, I suppose?" "He works for his living." "Then," turning reproachfully upon her, "what did you mean by saying he was a gentleman, and upsetting me to this extent?" "He is a gentleman," persisted Gertie. "I can tell the difference." Mr. Trew sighed, and took out his watch. Gertie glanced at it. "I must go," she said. "I promised to meet him not far from the shop at half-past." "I'd do anything to help you, missy," he declared, "because I like you. And it's just because I like you that I don't feel particular inclined to assist him. He ought to keep to his own sphere. There's a lot of talk about breaking down the barriers that divide one class from another, but, I tell you, it's a job that wants very careful handling. And I've got as much sense as most, and I rather enjoy interfering with other people's affairs, but this is an undertaking I don't care to tackle. You'll excuse me for speaking my mind, won't you? It's a habit I've got into." "It's a good habit," said Gertie. "I practise it myself." On the return, Mr. Trew, cap now at the back of his head, and his rubicund face bearing indications of seriousness, pointed out that the girl was in a berth in Great Titchfield Street, which he described as not so dusty, earning twenty-five shillings a week, and with Saturday afternoons and Sundays free; a good home, and everything ready for her when she returned, tired out, at night; first-class feeding, able to dress well. Mr. Trew, without daring to say whether he was right or whether he was wrong, begged to suggest there were many girls worse treated by fortune; it did seem to him that these advantages ought not to be given up lightly. "There he is!" she cried excitedly. "Across there. Near the second-hand furniture shop." "Your aunt's calling you," he said. Mrs. Mills was out on the pavement, scooping at the air with her right arm. Gertie instinctively obeyed the order; Mr. Trew kept pace with her. The three entered the shop, and Mrs. Mills, with a touch of her heel, closed the door, went inside the tobacco counter, and, across it, spoke rapidly and vehemently, with the aid of emphatic gesture, for five minutes by the clock. Mr. Trew, disregarding rules of etiquette, sat down, whilst the two stood, and became greatly interested in the mechanism of a cigar-cutter. "Who told you all this, aunt?" asked the girl calmly, when Mrs. Mills had finished.