as are all
other markets. There were fat times, when money was plentiful; lean
nights, when buyers were scarce or sellers suffered from over-supply.
To complete the resemblance, this mart was sensibly affected by world
events, political happenings, the robustness or weakness of other
markets of industry.

Men of all ages swarmed on the pavement; some were buyers, others were
attracted by the fun of the fair. The family parties which were
occasionally to be met with, as they scurried home to remote suburbs,
seemed sadly out of place in this seething collection of vicious men
and women.

An over-dressed black woman was there, as if to prove, if proof were
needed, the universality of sin.

As the procession of painted faces loomed out of the fog, it seemed to
Mavis as if they were lost souls in the spume of the pit.

She drew closer to the man at her side. London, life itself, seemed to
the girl's jangled nerves to be a concentrated horror, from which, so
it now appeared, the man beside her was her only safeguard. He had
certainly insulted her, she reflected; but his conduct was, perhaps,
excusable under the circumstances in which he had found her. Directly
he had learned his mistake, he had rescued her from further contact
with infamy, and had been gentle with her. In return, she had been
scarcely civil to him, and had told him a lie when he had asked her if
she were his old playmate.

As she walked with him, she bitterly reproached herself for her
falsehood; she also tried to hide from herself that her rudeness had
been largely assumed in order to conceal her growing regard for him. It
would seem another world when he was not at her side to protect her
from possible harm.

As they passed Burlington House, a beggar whined his tale of woe in
their ears. Mavis saw Windebank give the man something, the
handsomeness of which made the recipient open his eyes. A
flower-seller, who had witnessed the generous act, immediately pestered
Windebank to buy of her wares, an example at once followed by others of
her calling. He gave them all money, at which some of them forced their
wired flowers upon him, whilst others overwhelmed him with thanks.

"Don't thank me," he protested, as he glanced towards Mavis, who was
the recipient of countless blessings, mechanically uttered.

Beggars and loafers, with their keen scent for prey, were about him in
less time than it takes to tell. He gave largely, generously; he was
soon the ce