copper 'cos
o' that. Folks likes yer. I shall get on better than Polly when I'm
old enough to go on the street."

The organ of whose lagging, sick pumpings Antony Dart had scarcely been
aware for months gave a sudden leap in his breast. His blood actually
hastened its pace, and ran through his veins instead of crawling--a
distinct physical effect of an actual mental condition. It was produced
upon him by the mere matter-of-fact ordinariness of her tone. He had
never been a sentimental man, and had long ceased to be a feeling one,
but at that moment something emotional and normal happened to him.

"You expect to live in that way?" he said.

"Ain't nothin' else fer me to do. Wisht I was better lookin'. But I've
got a lot of 'air," clawing her mop, "an' it's red. One day,"
chuckling, "a gent ses to me--he ses: 'Oh! yer'll do. Yer an ugly
little devil--but ye ARE a devil.'"

She was leading him through a narrow, filthy back street, and she
stopped, grinning up in his face.

"I say, mister," she wheedled, "let's stop at the cawfee-stand. It's up
this way."

When he acceded and followed her, she quickly turned a corner. They were
in another lane thick with fog, which flared with the flame of torches
stuck in costers' barrows which stood here and there--barrows with
fried fish upon them, barrows with second-hand-looking vegetables and
others piled with more than second-hand-looking garments. Trade was not
driving, but near one or two of them dirty, ill-used looking women, a
man or so, and a few children stood. At a corner which led into a black
hole of a court, a coffee-stand was stationed, in charge of a burly
ruffian in corduroys.

"Come along," said the girl. "There it is. It ain't strong, but it's
'ot."

She sidled up to the stand, drawing Dart with her, as if glad of his
protection.

"'Ello, Barney," she said. "'Ere's a gent warnts a mug o' yer best.
I've 'ad a bit o' luck, an' I wants one mesself."

"Garn," growled Barney. "You an' yer luck! Gent may want a mug, but
y'd show yer money fust."

"Strewth! I've got it. Y' aint got the chinge fer wot I 'ave in me
'and 'ere. 'As 'e, mister?"

"Show it," taunted the man, and then turning to Dart. "Yer wants a mug
o' cawfee?"

"Yes."

The girl held out her hand cautiously--the piece of gold lying upon its
palm.

"Look 'ere," she said.

There were two or three men slouching about the stand. Suddenly a hand
darted from between two of the