“Heaven forbid that I should interfere with the duty of a responsible police officer,” she said, “but on the whole I’d rather Mr. Parr didn’t. That at least is a sign of grace,” she smiled. “Yes, I’d much rather he didn’t. I don’t mind the police speaking to me for my good because it is only right and proper that they should try to lead the weak from their sinful ways. But an employer who attempts to reform an erring girl might be a bit of a nuisance, don’t you think?” In spite of himself he laughed. “Really, Thalia, you’re much too clever for the kind of company you’re keeping and for the kind of life you’re drifting to,” he added earnestly. “I know I have no right to interfere, but perhaps I could help you. Particularly,” he hesitated, “if you have done something which places you in the power of these people.” She put out her hand with a rare smile. “Good-bye,” she said sweetly, and left him feeling something of a fool. The girl walked quickly through Burlington Arcade to Piccadilly and entered a taxi. The block of mansions at which she alighted was situated in the Marylebone Road and was a distinct improvement on Lexington Street. The liveried porter took her up in the elevator to the third floor, and she let herself into a flat which was both prettily and expensively furnished. She pressed a bell, and it was answered by a staid middle-aged woman. “Martha,” she said, “I shan’t want any tea, thank you. Lay out my blue evening gown and telephone to Waltham’s Garage and tell them that I shall want a car to be here at five minutes before half past seven.” Miss Drummond’s wages from the bank were exactly £4 a week. Chapter XVI. Mr. Marl Goes Out “So you’ve come, eh?” said Mr. Marl, rising to greet the girl. “My word, but you look smart! And you look lovely, my dear, too!” He took both her hands in his and led her into the little gold and white drawing-room. “Lovely!” he repeated in an almost hushed voice. “I can tell you I was a little bit scared about taking you to the Ritz-Carlton. You don’t mind my frankness, do you--have a cigarette?” He fumbled in the tail-pocket of his dress coat, produced a large gold case and opened it. “You thought I’d turn up in one of Morne & Gillingsworth’s six guinea models, eh?” she laughed as she lit the cigarette. “Well, I did, my dear. I’ve had a lot of unhappy experiences,” explained Marl as he seated himself heavily in an arm-chair. “I’ve had ’em turn up in queer clothes, I can tell you!” “Do you make a practice of entertaining the young and the fair?” Thalia had seated herself on the big padded fireguard and was looking down at him under her half-closed lids. “Well,” said Mr. Marl complacently, rubbing his hands. “I’m not so old that I don’t get some pleasure out of ladies’ society. But you’re stunning!” He was a blonde, red-faced man with suspiciously brown hair, suspiciously even teeth, and for this evening he had acquired a waist which seemed wholly unreal.