‘I can find my own way,’ she said. The voice was low, musical; it trembled, and as she moved forward to pass Wyndham, so did she. She even tottered, so much, indeed, that she was obliged to catch hold of a table near to keep herself from falling. ‘It is impossible for you to walk to-night,’ said the young man earnestly. ‘And there is no necessity for it. My servant is at your disposal; he can call a cab for you, and he is quite to be trusted; he will see you to your home.’ The girl hesitated for a moment, then lifted her heavy eyes to his. ‘I have no home,’ she said. It was a very forlorn answer, and it went to Wyndham’s heart. God help her, poor girl! whoever she was. He glanced again at her clothes, which were decidedly above the average of the extremely wretched, and he was conscious of a certain curiosity with regard to her—a distinctly kindly one. The girl caught the glance and turned away her head. ‘You can at least say where you want to be driven,’ said he gravely, but with sympathy; he hesitated for a moment, and then went on. ‘No questions will be asked,’ he said. She made no answer to this, and while he waited for one the Professor broke in impatiently: ‘Come, girl, speak! Where do you want to go? Where do you live?’ On this followed another shorter silence, and then at last she spoke. ‘I shall not go back,’ she said. Her tone was low, but defiant, and very firm. ‘That means you will not tell,’ said the Professor. ‘Then go—do you hear—go! You are interrupting us here.’ He motioned towards the door, where Denis stood mute as a sentinel; he was, indeed, an old soldier, for the matter of that. The girl stepped quickly, eagerly forward, but Wyndham stopped her imperatively, and standing between her and the door, he spoke to the Professor. ‘It is impossible to turn her out at this hour—in this weather.’ He stopped, and now looked at the girl and spoke to her. ‘Why can’t you trust us?’ he said, with angry reproach. ‘Why can’t you let us do something for you? You must have a home somewhere, however bad.’ The girl thus addressed turned upon him suddenly with miserable passion shining in her large, dark eyes. ‘I have not,’ she said. ‘Under the sky of God, there is no creature so homeless as I am.’ Her passion was so great that it struck the listeners into silence. She made a little gesture with her arms suggestive of awful weariness, then spoke again: ‘There was a place where I lived yesterday. It was not a home. I shall not live there again. I have left it. I shall not go back.’ ‘But where, then, are you going?’ asked Wyndham impulsively.