“But if you’re afraid,” George Tarlyon just thought to ask, “aren’t you even more afraid of addressing a stranger, who might do a little lady some harm in a lonely place like this?” The little lady smiled gently. “I saw your face as you passed,” she said. “You might be dangerous to a lady in a drawing-room but not in Lansdowne Passage. Unlike some men I know....” They were walking very slowly, and still had almost half of the passage to go, but George Tarlyon did not say, “Hurry up, little lady,” thinking she was a pathetic little thing, more than usually pathetic of her kind. But he was not interested in her, and it was only out of politeness that he asked: “Have you had trouble with one or two, then?” “With one,” she told him softly. She was so small, and he so tall, that her voice seemed to float up to him from somewhere about his knees. He scarcely listened to it. To tell the truth, he was rather tired. “With one,” she repeated. “That is why I am afraid of walking through here by myself at night. It happened many years ago, but every detail is still very clear to me.” “He must have frightened you a good deal,” said George Tarlyon. Not that he was interested. “I wouldn’t say that,” said the little lady gently. “But it was certainly the most important thing that has ever happened in my life. You see, sir, I had to get three pounds that night. I had already made two pounds, for that is all I have ever dared to ask, though sometimes the kinder gentlemen have given me more, but that night I had to make three pounds more, for five pounds a week was the rent of my rooms and already overdue some time....” The gentle voice ran on, floating up to him from somewhere about his knee, and he scarcely listened. They were quite near the Curzon Street end now, and the words floated upwards quicker....