nded regularly one of the police
courts in London. Day by day I came into contact with the lost souls who
have drifted on to the great rubbish-heap. There was a girl, Martha
Gullimore her name was, whose record for her age was as black as sin
could make it. Her father, I believe, is the blacksmith in your model
village! I spoke to him of his daughter yesterday, and he cursed me!"

"You mean Samuel Gullimore--my farrier?" she asked.

"That is the man," he answered.

"Have you any other--instances?" she asked.

"More than one, I am sorry to say," he replied. "There were two young
men who left here only a year ago--one is the son of your gardener,
the other was brought up by his uncle at your lodge gates. I was
instrumental in saving them from prison a few months ago. One we have
shipped to Canada--the other, I am sorry to say, has relapsed. We did
what we could, but beyond a certain point we cannot go."

She leaned her head for a moment upon the slim, white fingers of her
right hand, innocent of rings save for one great emerald, whose gleam
of colour was almost barbaric in its momentary splendour. Her face
had hardened a little, her tone was almost an offence.

"You would have me believe, then," she said, "that my peaceful village
is a veritable den of iniquity?"

"Not I," he answered brusquely. "Only I would have you realize that
roses and honeysuckle and regular wages, the appurtenances of material
prosperity, are after all things of little consequence. They hear the
song of the world, these people, in their leisure moments; their young
men and girls are no stronger than their fellows when temptation comes."

Deyes leaned suddenly forward in his chair. He felt that his
intervention dissipated a dramatic interest, of which he was keenly
conscious, but he could not keep silence any longer.

"To follow out your argument, sir, to its logical conclusion," he said,
"why not aim higher still? It is your contention, is it not, that the
seeds of evil things are sown in indifference, that prosperity might
even tend towards their propagation. Why not direct your energies, then,
towards the men and women of Society? There is plenty of scope here for
your labours."

The young man turned towards him. The lines of his mouth had relaxed
into a smile of tolerant indifference.

"I have no sympathy, sir," he answered, "with the class you name. On a
sinking ship, the cry is always, 'Save the women and children.' It is
the less