ance to look after my things. Thieves
have entered my room, stolen everything, and left me an empty box. I am
once again almost without clothes, and know not where to turn to make
that figure necessary for the fulfilment of my duties. You see, I am not
lucky. Since coming to your country, the sole piece of fortune I have
had was to tumble on a man like you. Excuse me for not writing more at
this moment. Hoping that you are in good health, and in affectionately
pressing your hand,

I am,

Always your devoted

LOUIS FERRAND.

Upon reading this letter Shelton had once more a sense of being
exploited, of which he was ashamed; he sat down immediately and wrote
the following reply:

BISHOPS HEAD HOTEL, OXFORD,

June 25.

MY DEAR FERRAND,

I am grieved to hear of your misfortunes. I was much hoping that you had
made a better start. I enclose you Post Office Orders for four pounds.
Always glad to hear from you.

Yours sincerely,

RICHARD SHELTON.

He posted it with the satisfaction that a man feels who nobly shakes off
his responsibilities.

Three days before July he met with one of those disturbing incidents
which befall no persons who attend quietly to their property and
reputation.

The night was unbearably hot, and he had wandered out with his cigar;
a woman came sidling up and spoke to him. He perceived her to be one of
those made by men into mediums for their pleasure, to feel sympathy with
whom was sentimental. Her face was flushed, her whisper hoarse; she had
no attractions but the curves of a tawdry figure. Shelton was repelled
by her proprietary tone, by her blowzy face, and by the scent of
patchouli. Her touch on his arm startled him, sending a shiver through
his marrow; he almost leaped aside, and walked the faster. But her
breathing as she followed sounded laboured; it suddenly seemed pitiful
that a woman should be panting after him like that.

"The least I can do," he thought, "is to speak to her." He stopped, and,
with a mixture of hardness and compassion, said, "It 's impossible."

In spite of her smile, he saw by her disappointed eyes that she accepted
the impossibility.

"I 'm sorry," he said.

She muttered something. Shelton shook his head.

"I 'm sorry," he said once more. "Good.-night."

The woman bit her lower lip.

"Good-night," she answered dully.

At the corner of the street he turned his head. The woman was hurrying
uneasily; a policeman coming from behind had caugh