“Yes, he’s an old friend. But, you see, it was through Dina. He behaved badly to her and married Elsie Carnegie--and so they were cuts. I only saw him once all last year. I heard she was awfully jealous. Is n’t it silly of a woman? I think, if he knew I was here he’d come. But what would be the use?” “Not much, except to say a friendly word to you. But still--while you were living with Miss Vicary, you must have made some acquaintances. It seems so extraordinary.” “We lived so very much alone,” explained Yvonne. “Poor Dina didn’t know many people--no one liked her. With one exception--and he died long ago--I think I am the only one in the world who ever loved Dina. No--I am just a waif--that’s what I am.” In her simple way she had accounted to him accurately for her life since her rupture with Everard. At first she had been too sore at heart to go much into the world. Then Geraldine, whose influence with her was paramount, continually discouraged her from renewing old acquaintanceships. Her friends had literally melted away. Had she so chosen, she might have interested in her misfortunes a score of professional well-wishers. But Yvonne was proud in many unexpected ways, and would have died rather than have the shame of sending the hat round for relief. As for communicating with Fulminster, it was not to be thought of. “I don’t care,” she added, after a pause; “I have found you again.” “Then dry your poor eyes,” he said comfortingly; “and don’t think any more of the worries. Don’t you remember how happy you made me once, when I was in desperate straits--when all the world cast me off but you? You are still the only being who knows me and cares whether I live or die. You are neither going to starve, Yvonne, nor die in a workhouse. As long as I have a penny you shall have half of it. Don’t think of anything more than the immediate future, little woman. We will manage that all right. Be comforted.” He spoke earnestly, leaning forward with his arm on the bed. The precariousness of his own fortunes scarcely occurred to him. He was deeply moved. At that moment he would have cut off his right hand for her. Yvonne thanked him with her eyes, which grew very soft and grateful. His man’s strength brought her comfort. She trusted him implicitly, as she had all her life trusted those who were kind to her. She closed her eyes for a moment with a little sigh of relief. She was so content to yield to the generous hand that was taking the terrible burden from her shoulders, felt as if she could go to sleep like a tired child. When she opened her eyes they were almost smiling. “I ’ll try to be happy again, so as to thank you, Stephen,” she said. “Well, here is something for you--what you like--eat one to show me you are comforted.” He put the paper bag into her hand, and, tilting back his chair, watched her pleased expression as she peeped into the mouth and drew out one of the cakes.