To another lodging three streets away.... Initiation by the new landlady into the mysteries of pawnshops; gradual thinning of wardrobe.... Answering of advertisements found in the public library in Great Smith Street.... Long, feet-aching trudges to save omnibus fares.... Always the same outcome. ... Experience?--None. References?--None.... “Thank you; I'm afraid--I'm sure it's all right, but one has to be so careful nowadays. Good morning.” ... Always the same outcome.... The idea of writing to Ireland was hardly conceived. ... That life, those friends, seemed of a period that was dead, done, gone--ages and ages ago.... XIII. Again it was a man who dealt the deeper blow--a gentlemanly-looking person of whom in Wilton Road one evening she asked the way to an address copied from the _Daily Telegraph_. Why, by an extraordinary coincidence he was going that way himself, to that very house!--flat, rather. Yes, it was his mother who was advertising for a lady-help. Might he show her the way? ... It would be very kind of him. Through a maze of streets, he chatting pleasantly enough, though putting now and then curious little questions which she could not understand.... Hadn't he seen her at the Oxford one night? ... Assuredly he had not; what was the Oxford? He laughed, evidently pleased. “Gad, you do keep it up!” he cried. So to a great pile of flats; up a circular stair. “You understand why I can't use the lift?” he said. “They're beastly particular here.” She did not understand; supposed it was some question of expense. Thus to a door where he took out a latch-key. It was then for the first moment that a sudden doubt, a horror, took her, trembling her limbs. She looked up at the figures painted over the door. “Why, it is the wrong number!” she cried. He had turned the key. “Lord! you do keep it up!” he laughed, his hand suddenly about her arm. Then she knew, and dragged back, sweating with the horror of the thing. “Ah, let me go--let me go!” “Oh, chuck it, you little ass!” His arm was about her waist now, dragging her; his face close. With a sudden twist and thrust that took him by surprise she wrenched from his grasp; was a flight of stairs away before he had recovered his wits; across the hall and running--shaking, hysterical--down the street. XIV. Thereafter men were a constant horror to her--adding a new and most savage beast to the wolves of noise, of desolation and of despair that bayed about her in this grinding city. Unable longer to face them, she went again to Miss Ram at the Agency--almost upon her knees, crying, trembling, pitching her tale from the man with the dent in his hat to the man in Wilton Road. Miss Ram was moved to the original depths that lay beneath her grim exterior; had never realised the actual circumstances; would do what she could; no need to be frightened.