ple, and I am
sheltering her for their sake. But I am bound to say that I consider her
story most unsatisfactory."

They were standing in the hall--she had paused on her way out to
conclude her sentence. Her maid, holding out a wonderful rose-lined
opera cloak, was standing a few yards away; a man-servant was waiting at
the door with the handle in his hand. She raised her eyes to his, and
Macheson felt the challenge which flashed out from them. She imagined,
then, that he had been the girl's companion; the cold disdain of her
manner was in itself an accusation.

His cheeks burned with a sort of shame. She had dared to think this of
him--and that afterwards he should have brought the girl to her to beg
for shelter! There were a dozen things which he ought to have said,
which came flashing from his brain to find themselves somehow imprisoned
behind his tightly locked lips. He said nothing. She passed slowly,
almost unwillingly, down the hall. The maid wrapped her coat around
her--still he stood like a statue. He watched her pass through the
opened door and enter the electric brougham. He watched it even glide
away. Then he, too, went and joined Holderness, who was waiting outside.

"Hail, succourer of damsels in distress!" Holderness called out,
producing his cigar-case. "Jolly glad you got rid of her! It would have
meant the waiting-room at St. Pancras and an all-night sitting. Smoke,
my son, and we will walk home--unless you mind this bit of rain. Was her
ladyship gracious?"

"She was not," Macheson answered grimly, "but she is keeping the girl.
I'd like to walk," he added, lighting a cigar.

"A very elegant lady," Holderness remarked, "but I thought she looked a
bit up in the air. Did you notice her pearls, Victor?"

Macheson nodded.

"Wonderful, weren't they?"

"Yes. She wears them round her neck, and these--these wear always their
shame," he added, pushing gently away a woman who clutched at his arm.
"Funny thing, isn't it? What are they worth? Ten thousand pounds, very
likely. A lot of money for gewgaws--to hang upon a woman's body. Shall
we ever have a revolution in London, do you think, Victor?"

"Who knows?" Macheson answered wearily. "Not a political one, perhaps,
but the other might come. The sewers underneath are pretty full."

They passed along in silence for a few minutes. Neither the drizzling
rain nor the lateness of the hour could keep away that weary procession
of sad, staring-eyed women, who