"If you please, I think I had better go back to Stephen," she said. "Do you think I could find him?" "I think you had much better not, Letty," he answered. "He ought not to have let you miss your train. My friend here and I are going to look after you." "It's very kind of you," the girl said listlessly, "but it doesn't matter much what becomes of me now. Mother will never forgive me--and the others will all know--that I missed the train." "We must think of some way of putting that all right," Macheson declared. "I only wish that I had some relations in London. Can you suggest anything, Dick?" "I can take the young lady to some decent rooms," Holderness answered. "The landlady's an old friend of mine. She'll be as right as rain there." The girl shook her head. "I'd as soon walk about the streets," she said pathetically. "Mother'll never listen to me--or the others. Some of them saw me with Stephen, and they said things. I think I'll go to the station and wait till the five o'clock train." They were walking slowly up towards Piccadilly. A fine rain had begun to fall, and already the pavements were shining. Neither of them had an umbrella, and Letty's hat, with its cheap flowers and ribbon, showed signs of collapse. Suddenly Macheson had an idea. "Look here," he said, "supposing you spent the night at Miss Thorpe-Hatton's house in Berkeley Square--no one could say anything then, could they?" The girl looked up with a sudden gleam of hope. "No! I don't suppose they could," she admitted; "but I don't know where it is, and I don't suppose they'd take me in anyway." "I know where it is," Macheson declared, "and we'll see about their taking you in. I believe Miss Thorpe-Hatton may be there herself. Stop that fourwheeler, Dick." They climbed into a passing cab, and Macheson directed the driver. The girl was beginning to lose confidence again. "The house is sure to be shut up," she said. "There will be a caretaker." Macheson declared hopefully. "We'll manage it, never fear. I believe Miss Thorpe-Hatton is there herself." Letty was trembling with excitement and fear. "I'm scared to death of her," she admitted. "She's so beautiful, and she looks at you always as though you were something a long way off." Macheson was suddenly silent. A rush of memories surged into his brain. He had sworn to keep away! This was a different matter, an errand of mercy. Nevertheless he would see her, if only for a moment. His heart leaped like a boy's. He looked eagerly out of the window. Already they were entering Berkeley Square. The cab stopped. Macheson looked upwards. There were lights in many of the windows, and a small electric brougham, with a tall footman by the side of the driver, was waiting opposite the door. "The house is open," he declared. "Don't be afraid, Letty." The girl descended and clung to his arm as they crossed the pavement. "I shall wait here for you," Holderness said. "Good luck to you, and good night, young lady!"