René took her in his arms and carried her up the narrow little stairs. She opened the door and asked him to come in and have a cup of tea. After she had put the kettle on and lit the gas she sat and took a long look at him. "I like you," she said. "And I suppose I shan't see you again. That's always the way. The people you like best you see only once, or in the train, or going by in a bus. Is it far where you live?" "I don't know where I live." "Go on. I'm not that sort." "It's true. I've only just come to London. This morning." "Leave your things at the station?" "Things? No, I didn't bring any." "Well! I never!" She shrugged her amazement away, his adventures being no business of hers. After she had made the tea she removed her shoes and stockings and examined her ankle. It was inflamed and slightly swollen. She made him rub it, giving little gasps as he touched or wrenched the soreness. "'Tisn't a sprain? You don't think it's a sprain? I don't care as long as it isn't a sprain." "No, I shouldn't think it's a sprain; but you'd better ask someone else." "Are you Scotch?" "No. Why do you ask?" "You talk funny. I say arsk." "My home's up north." "Home. Father and mother?" "Well--no. A wife and all that." "O-o-h! Married?" She looked unhappy and uncomfortable for a moment. Then she said: "I shouldn't have thought it. You look so young. What did you do?" "Lectured and took pupils at the university." "College? I know. There's a big school just round here. I suppose it's something like that. I seen the teachers. Half-baked they look, some of them. Was that it?" "I don't know what it was. Things came to a head suddenly. I was taken by surprise. I think it will take me some time to realize quite what has happened." She asked his name. He gave it and she hers, Ann Pidduck, and she worked in a factory, pickles and condiments, at the packing, putting wooden boxes together with a machine that drove in four nails at a time. Once she had been ill and sent away and taught the artificial flowers, and she did that too, in her spare time, for some hat-shops in the High Street, and for one or two ladies she knew. She used to live at home with her mother, who had turned religious and couldn't put up with a bit of fun. And she had a friend who lived in these rooms when there were still horses in the mews, but the friend had gone out to Canada on a farm, "where you get married at once if you're anything like." She broke off her story: "What are you going to do?" "I don't know." "Well, you can't just sit and look at London till it begins to look at you." "No." "You look as if you'd like to sit there forever and ever. Oh, you do look tired, poor thing! But keep awake a little, there's a dear. I must know what I'm going to do with you." He could hardly keep his attention fixed on what she was saying, but he fastened his eyes on her to make her understand that he was listening. "You don't want to go home? No?" He shook his head.