add by his accusation another stone to the weight
she bore. And if she had taken them, why not? The cat was not at hand
to warn her that he was to be trusted. She had not wanted the money for
herself. She had been preyed upon, and had learned to prey upon others
in self-defense.

"I find I haven't any money with me," said Michael, looking at her.

"That doesn't matter. I've really quite enjoyed our little talk."

"But I'll send you some more," he promised.

"No, it doesn't matter. I haven't done anything to have you send your
money for. I expect when you saw me in the light, you didn't think I was
really quite your style. Of course, I've really come down. It's no use
denying it. I'm _not_ what I was."

If she had robbed him, she wanted nothing more from him. If she had
robbed him, it was because in the humility of her degradation she had
feared to see him shrink from her in disgust.

"I shall send you some money for your boy," he said, in the darkness by
the door.

"No, it doesn't matter."

"What's your name?"

"Well, I'm known here as Mrs. Smith." Doubtfully she whispered as the
cold air came in through the open door: "I don't expect you'd care about
giving me a kiss."

Michael had never known anything in his life so difficult to do, but he
kissed her cold and flaccid cheek and hurried up the area steps.

When he stood again upon the pavement in the menace of the five black
houses of Leppard Street, Michael felt that he never again could endure
to return to them at night, nor ever again in the day perceive their
fifty windows inscrutable as water. Yet he must walk for a while in the
stinging northerly air before he went back to his rooms; he must try to
rid himself of the oppression which now lay so heavily upon him; he must
be braced even by this lugubrious night of Pimlico before he could
encounter again the permeating fug of Leppard Street. He walked as far
as the corner, and saw in silhouette upon the bridge a solitary
policeman thudding his chest for warmth. In this abominable desert of
lamps he should have seemed a symbol of comfort, but Michael with the
knowledge of the power he wielded over the unfortunates beheld him now
as the brutish servant of a dominating class. He was, after all, very
much like a dressed-up gorilla, as he stood there thudding his chest in
the haggard lamplight.

Michael turned and went back to his rooms.

He stared at the picture of St. Ursula on the white wall, and sudden