Friends in Ireland had given her the addresses of friends in London on whom she must call. She visited some houses; then in a sudden wild despair tore the list. Either these people were dense of comprehension or she clumsy of explanation. To make them realise her position she found impossible. They were warmly kind, sympathetic--cheery in that lugubrious fashion in which we are taught to be “bright” with the afflicted. But when she spoke of the necessity to find employment they would warmly cry, “Oh, but you must not think of that yet, Miss Humfray ... after all you have been through.... You must keep quiet for a little.” One and all gave her the same words. An impulse took her to kick over the tea-table--anything to arouse these people from their stereotyped mood of sympathy with a girl suddenly bereaved,--and to cry, “But don't you _understand_? I am living over a mews--over a _mews_ with twelve pounds and a few shillings, and then _nothing_--nothing at all.” Wise, perhaps, had she indulged the outburst without the action; wiser had she written to some of the friends in Ireland, asked to go back to one of them for a while. But the dull grief beneath which she still lay benumbed prevented her from other course than tonelessly accepting the proffered sympathy; and the thought of returning to Ireland was impossible. She tore the list of London friends; appealed to Tim and Missus. Tim was helpful. He had taken fares to an Agency in Norfolk Street--an Agency for “Disturbed Gentlewomen,” he called it; there took her one morning. “Distressed Gentlewomen,” she found the brass plate to read--“The Norfolk Street Agency for Distressed Gentlewomen.” A lymphatic-looking young woman, assisting the growth of a singularly stout face by sucking a sweet, and wearing brown holland sleeve protectors hooked up with enormous safety-pins, received her in the room marked “Enquiries”; put her into that labelled “Waiting.” Here were two copies of the _Christian Herald_, some emigration pamphlets, a carafe of water covered by an inverted tumbler dusty with disuse, and three elderly females--presumably gentlewomen, possibly distressed, but not advertising either condition. In due time her turn for the room marked “Private”; interrogation by Miss Ram, a short, thin lady in black, who bowed more frequently than she spoke, possessing a range of inclinations of the head each of which had unmistakable meaning. Position sought?--Oh, anything; governess, companion. Last situation?--None; she was inexperienced. Capabilities?--Equally lacking, as discovered by a probing cross-examination. Salary required?--Oh, anything; whatever was usual; a _home_--that was the chief object in view.