She who wept, now almost inaudibly, was a dark shape just within the passage. Her face, says Mr. Trevor, was not visible, yet her shadow had not those rather surprising contours which one generally associates with women who weep in the night. “Madam,” began Mr. Maturin. “Oh!” sobbed the gentle voice. “He is insulting me!” Mr. Trevor lays some emphasis on the fact that throughout the course of that miserable night his manners were a pattern of courtliness. Thinking, however, that a young lady in a situation so lachrymose would react more favourably to a fatherly tone, he said: “My child, we hope----” “Ah!” sobbed the gentle voice. “Please go away, please! I am _not_ that sort!” “Come, come!” said Mr. Maturin. “It is us whom you insult with a suspicion so disagreeable. My friend and I are not of the sort to commit ourselves to so low a process as that which is called, I believe, ‘picking up.’” “We have, as a matter of fact, friends of our own,” said Mr. Trevor haughtily. “Speaking generally,” said Mr. Maturin, “women like us. Time over again I have had to sacrifice my friendship with a man in order to retain his wife’s respect.” “Ah, you are a man of honour!” sobbed the young lady. “We are two men of honour,” said Mr. Trevor. “And far,” said Mr. Maturin warmly, “from intending you any mischief, we merely thought, on hearing you weeping----” “You _heard_ me, sir!” “From Conduit Street,” said Mr. Trevor severely, whereupon Mr. Maturin lifted up his voice and sang: “_From Conduit Street, from Conduit Street,_ _The street of ties and tailors:_ _From Conduit Street, from Conduit Street,_ _A shocking street for trousers_----” “Oh!” sobbed the young lady. “Is this chivalry?” “Trousers,” said Mr. Maturin, “are closely connected with chivalry, insomuch as he who commits chivalry without them is to be considered a rude fellow. But, child,” Mr. Maturin protested sincerely, “we addressed you only in the hope that we might be of some service in the extremity of your grief. I assure you that you can trust us, for since we are no longer soldiers rape and crime have ceased to attract us. However, you do not need us. We were wrong. We will go.” “It was I who was wrong!” came the low voice; and Mr. Trevor says that only then did the young lady raise her face, when it was instantly as though the beauty of that small face sent the surrounding darkness scurrying away. Not, however, that Mr. Trevor was impressed altogether in the young lady’s favour. Her eyes, which were large, dark and charming, appeared to rest on handsome Beau Maturin with an intentness which Mr. Trevor can only describe as bold; while her disregard of his own presence might have hurt him had he, says Mr. Trevor, cared two pins for that kind of thing. “You see, I have not eaten to-day,” the young lady told Beau Maturin, who cried: “But, then, we _can_ help you!”