ve left home; I couldn't live without
you; ... aren't you glad to see me?"

"Of course I'm glad to see you."

"Then why don't you kiss me?" she said, jumping on his knees and
throwing her arms about his neck.

"What a wicked little girl you are!"

"Wicked! It is you who make me wicked, my own darling Mike. I ran
away from home for you, all for you; I should have done it for nobody
else.... I ran away the day--the day before yesterday. My aunt was
annoying me for going out in the lane with some young fellows. I said
nothing for a long time. At last I jumps up, and I says that I would
stand it no longer; I told her straight; I says you'll never see me
again, never no more; I'll go away to London to some one who is
awfully nice. And of course I meant you, my own darling Mike." And
the room rang with girlish laughter.

"But where are you staying?" said Mike, seriously alarmed.

"Where am I staying? I'm staying with a young lady friend of mine who
lives in Drury Lane, so I'm not far from you. You can come and see
me," she said, and her face lit with laughter. "We are rather hard
up. If you could lend me a sovereign I should be so much obliged."

"Yes, I'll lend you a sovereign, ten if you like; but I hope you'll
go back to your aunt. I know the world better than you, my dear
little Flossy, and I tell you that Drury Lane is no place for you."

"I couldn't go back to aunt; she wouldn't take me back; besides, I
want to remain in London for the present."

Before she left Mike filled the astonished child's hands with money,
and as she paused beneath his window he threw some flowers towards
her, and listened to her laughter ringing through the pale morning.
Now the night was a fading thing, and the town and Thames lay in the
faint blue glamour of the dawn. Another day had begun, and the rattle
of a morning cart was heard. Mike shut the window, hesitating between
throwing himself out of it, and going to bed.

"As long as I can remember, I have had these fits of depression, but
now they never leave me; I seem more than ever incapable of shaking
them off."

Then he thought of the wickedness he had done, not of the wickedness
of his life--that seemed to him unlimited,--but of the wickedness
accomplished within the last few hours, and he wondered if he had
done worse in cheating the young man at cards or giving the money he
had won to Flossy. "Having tasted of money, she will do anything to
obtain more. I suppose she is h