The street was one of those long, straight, melancholy streets, the deadly monotony and general seediness of which no amount of traffic can relieve--which bear the same relation to Regent Street and Oxford Street as the seamy side of a stage court suit does to the glitter and gaudiness that charm the pit, and stir the æsthetic emotions of the gallery. There are always plenty of people moving about in these streets whom one never sees anywhere else--and you may pass up and down them a dozen times a day without meeting anyone whose dress does not bear tokens, more or less pronounced, of a hand-to-hand struggle with hard-upness. It is a peculiarity of this struggle that in it those who struggle hardest appear to get least, or at any rate those who get least have to struggle hardest. This Society recognises with unconscious candour--and when it sees a man or woman shabbily dressed and with dirty hands, it at once decides that he or she must belong to the 'working' classes; thus naïvely accepting the fact that those whose work produces the wealth are not usually those who secure it. The face which had attracted Dick's notice was as careworn as any other in that crowd--the figure as shabbily clad as the majority. But the young man turned and followed with an interest independent of fair features or becoming raiment--an interest which had its rise in a determination to solve a problem, or at any rate to silence a doubt. Yet it was a young woman he was following--more than that, a pretty young women; and the very evident fact that this handsome, well-dressed young man was openly following this shabby girl with a parcel inspired some of the loafers whom they passed to the utterance of comments, the simple directness of which would perhaps not have pleased the young man had he heard them. He heard nothing. He was too intent on keeping her in sight. Presently she passed into a quieter street, and Dick at once ranged alongside of her, and, raising his hat said, 'Why, Alice, have you forgotten old friends already?' The girl turned a very white face towards him. 'Oh, Mr Richard! I never thought I should see you again, of all people.' 'Why, everybody is sure to meet everyone else sooner or later. How far are you going? Let me carry your parcel.' 'Oh, no, it's not heavy,' she said; but she let him take the brown-paper burden all the same. 'Not heavy!' he returned. 'It's too heavy for you.' 'I'm used to it,' she answered, with a little sigh. 'So much the worse. I'm awfully glad I've met you, my dear girl. Why did you leave us like that? What have you been doing with yourself?' 'Oh, Mr Richard, what does it matter now? And don't stand there holding that parcel, but say good-bye, and let me go home.' 'And where is home?' 'Not a long way off.' 'Well, I'll walk with you. Come along.' They walked side by side silently for some yards. Then he said,-- 'Alice, I want you to tell me truly how it was you left home.'