"You shall 'ave it. I've never told a soul. It's 'ow you can earn a living on the streets like me, and keep, like me, as good a maid as any lady married at St George's, 'Anover Square." "Thank you, but--". "Listen; listen; listen! It's dress quiet, pick up soft-looking gents, refuse drink, and pitch 'em a Sunday school yarn," said Miss Ewer impressively. "But--". "It's four pound a week I'm giving away. Tell 'em it's the first time you're going wrong; talk about your dead 'usband in 'is grave, an' the innocent little lovely baby girl in 'er cot (the gentlemen like baby girls better'n boys), as prayed for 'er mummy before she went to sleep. Then, squeeze a tear an' see if that don't touch their 'earts an' their pockets." "Let me go! Let me go!" cried Mavis, horrified at the woman's communication. "I thought I'd astonish you," said Miss Ewer complacently. "Let me go. This way?" "Too grateful to thenk me! Never mind; leave it till nex' time we meet. You can thenk me then. I thought I'd take your breath away." "Let me out! Let me out!" cried Mavis, as she fumbled at the chain of the front door. "Lemme. Good night, and Gawd bless yer," said Miss Ewer, furtively counting the gold pieces in her pocket. Mavis did not reply. "Thought I'd astonish yer. Fer Gawd's sake, don't whisper what I told you to a livin' soul. An' work 'ard and keep virtuous like me. Before Gawd, I'm as good a maid--" These were the last words Mavis heard as she hurried away from Miss Ewer. CHAPTER SIXTEEN SURRENDER Four weeks later, Mavis got out of the train at Melkbridge. She breathed a sigh of relief when her feet touched the platform; her one regret was that she was not leaving London further away than the hundred miles which separated Melkbridge from the metropolis. It seemed to her as if the great city were exclusively peopled with Mr. Orgles', Mrs Hamiltons, Miss Ewers, and their like. Ignorant of London's kindness, she had only thought for its wickedness. With the exception of one incident, she had resolved to forget as much as possible of her existence since she had left Brandenburg College; also, to see what happiness she could wrest from life in the capacity of clerk in the Melkbridge boot manufactory, a position she owed to her long delayed appeal to Mr Devitt for employment. The one incident that she cared to dwell upon was her meeting with Windebank and the kindly concern he had exhibited in her welfare. The morning following upon her encounter with him, she had long debated, without arriving at any conclusion, whether she had done well, or otherwise, in leaving him as she had done. As the days passed, if things seemed inclined to go happily with her, she was glad that she had put an end to their budding friendship, to regret her behaviour when vexed by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.