"Please don’t say no, Miss Rives. The situation is desperate. If this girl friend of yours has moved, what will you do? Even if she is still there, I don’t suppose you would keep on accepting hospitality from one who probably couldn’t afford it. I can, you see, and if you’ll only look upon me as Phil’s friend, acting in his place, I’m sure you won’t refuse." For a long minute the girl sat staring into his frank, kindly face with eyes which seemed to plumb his very soul. Perhaps it was what she saw there that made her give in; perhaps it was the thoughts which flashed through her mind of the awful streets, wind-swept and dark and bitter cold, with even more poignant terrors lurking in the shadows. At all events, she sighed faintly, and reached for her gloves. "Very well, Mr. Lawrence," she said quietly. "You may lend me—ten dollars." "But that isn’t——" "It is quite enough," she put in decidedly, "to make me grateful to you as long as I live. Would you mind—if we go now? It’s getting late." Without further protest, Barry paid the bill at once, and helped her on with her coat. As they reached the street he handed her a ten-dollar bill, which she slipped into her worn glove with another brief word of thanks. The ride uptown was a rather silent one. Barry did most of the talking, for he felt that the girl would rather say little. At Forty-eighth Street they got out, and, turning westward, walked briskly through the chilly street. As they approached a certain shabby-looking house midway in a block, Miss Rives, glancing upward, gave an exclamation of satisfaction at the sight of a light in the front room on the top floor. "I’m sure Sally’s still there," she said, turning to Lawrence. "She used to sit up reading till all hours." She hesitated an instant, and then went on more slowly: "I think I’d better go to the door alone. The woman who keeps the house is very kind, and, even if Sally’s gone, she’ll take me in. Good-by, Mr. Lawrence, and—thank you—a thousand times, for what you have done. Will you—give me your address so that I can send back the money—when I have it?" Barry’s fingers closed firmly over the hand she held out. "I’m at the St. Albans just now," he returned. "But I probably won’t stay there long. Wouldn’t it be better if I looked you up to see how you’re getting on?" For a bare second Shirley Rives hesitated. Then she turned away, and began mounting the steps. "I should be very glad to see you again, Mr. Lawrence," she answered. "Good night!" From a little distance Barry watched her ring the bell, saw the door open with almost no delay at all, and heard a brief murmur of conversation. When the girl finally stepped into the house and the door closed, he turned away with a sigh of satisfaction, and started back toward Broadway.