Ralph ran in the direction of the sound, until in the fog and darkness, he cannoned against the form of a man who turned angrily upon him, revealing as he did so, in the dim lamplight which struggled through the murky air, the evil face of an old _roué_. Fighting to free herself from him, like a little wild-cat, was the figure of a mere child; her vigour and agility were wonderful to behold and it was a task of no great difficulty for Ralph to help in freeing her from the clutches of the two-legged brute. Spite of the imperfect light, the child had been quickwitted enough to recognise the new comer as a protector, and she clung firmly to his hand as they went down the foggy street, never pausing until all fear of further molestation was over. Then, panting for breath, she stopped for a minute beneath a lamp-post, and in the little oasis of light, looked searchingly up into his face as though to make quite sure what manner of man he was. He saw now that she must be older than he had thought; from her height he had fancied her about eleven but he realised both by her face and her expression, that she must be at least fifteen. Her colouring was curiously like Evereld’s but the face was sharper, and had a funny look of assurance and knowledge of the world, which was, nevertheless, belied by the childish curves of cheek and chin, and by the nervous pressure with which she still clasped his hand. “I don’t know a bit what this street is,” she said, with tears in her voice, “And if I don’t soon get home grandfather will be dreadfully anxious about me.” “Where is your home?” asked Ralph, feeling curiously drawn to the forlorn little mortal who had crossed his path so strangely. “It’s in Paradise Street, Vauxhall,” said the child. “Ah, that’s lucky!” said Ralph. “My rooms are there too. What takes you out at this time of night? It’s not safe for you to be wandering about London alone.” “I always do go alone,” said the child, a little indignantly. “And no one ever dared to bother me before. One of the dressers always walks with me as far as our roads lie together, but this bit I always do alone ever since I went to the theatre.” “Oh you are on the stage,” said Ralph, his interest increasing; “Well, you are lucky to have work; it’s more than I can get.” “I used only to dance,” said the child, eagerly. “But now I have a little part of my own, but of course you won’t know my name yet, it’s not much known. I am Miss Ivy Grant.” There was a comical touch of pride and dignity in the words. Ralph’s lip twitched, but he bowed gravely and said he was delighted to make her acquaintance. Then, having walked a little further, they suddenly realised what road they were in and without much more difficulty groped their way home to Paradise Street. “I want you to come in and see my grandfather,” said Ivy, pausing at her door. “He will be very grateful to you for having helped me.” Ralph hesitated. “It is late for me to come in now,” he said.