lse?" asked Mavis
angrily.

"I 'ave it. I 'ave it," cried Miss Ewer triumphantly. "You're one of
the lucky ones. You're kep'."

"I beg your pardon."

"And good luck to you. Don't drink, keep him loving and generous, and
put by for a rainy day, my dear: an' good luck to you."

"I'm well enough to go now," said Mavis, as she rose with something of
an effort.

"Eh!"

"Thank you very much. Would you kindly show me the way out?"

"You've forgotten something, ain't yer?"

"What?"

"A little present for me."

"I've no money on me: really I haven't."

"Go on!"

"See!" cried Mavis, as she turned out the pockets of her cloak.

To her great surprise, many gold coins rolled on to the floor.

"Gawd in 'Eaven!" cried Miss Ewer, as she stooped to pick them up.

Mavis wondered how they had got there, till it occurred to her how
Windebank, pitying her poverty, must have taken the opportunity of
putting the money in her pocket when he insisted upon getting and
helping her into her coat at the restaurant.

She at once told herself that she could not touch a penny piece of it,
indeed the touch of it would seem as if it burnt her fingers. Her
present concern was to get away as far from the money as possible.

"'Ow much can I 'ave?" cried Miss Ewer, who was on her knees greedily
picking up the coins.

"All."

"All? Gawd's trewth!"

"Every bit. Only let me go; at once."

"'Ere, if you're so generous, ain't you got no more?" said Miss Ewer,
the while her eyes shone greedily.

"I'll see," said Mavis, as she thoroughly turned out her pockets.

Another gold piece fell out; also, a bunch of violets.

"Vilets!" laughed Miss Ewer.

"Don't touch those. No one else shall have them," cried Mavis, as she
wildly snatched them.

"You're welcome to that rubbage, and as you've given me all this, in
return I'll give you a tip as is worth a king's money box."

"You needn't bother."

"You shall 'ave it. I've never told a soul. It's 'ow you can earn a
living on the streets like me, and keep, like me, as good a maid as any
lady married at St George's, 'Anover Square."

"Thank you, but--".

"Listen; listen; listen! It's dress quiet, pick up soft-looking gents,
refuse drink, and pitch 'em a Sunday school yarn," said Miss Ewer
impressively.

"But--".

"It's four pound a week I'm giving away. Tell 'em it's the first time
you're going wrong; talk about your dead 'usband in 'is grave, an' the
innocent little lovely baby gi