she had been too young to be warned against
the advances of strange men. "They give you a high old time, and then
they expect to be paid for it," had been so dinned into her that if she
had given the young man a sharp "No" for an answer it would have been
almost instinctive. Training and admonition rose strong within her. She
felt that she was going to refuse help. The thought was intolerable.
Wherefore, instead of answering, she burst into tears.

A moment later the young man was sitting by her side, and she was
pouring her tale of a day gone wrong into amused but sympathetic ears.

His voice and choice of words belonged to a world into which she had
never looked. She could not help trusting him and believing that he was
good--even when he put his arm around her and let her finish her cry on
his shoulder.

"And your friend left you--and you've got no car fare, and you've had
nothing to eat, and you can't walk any more because your shoes are too
tight. And you live----?"

She told him.

"I could take you right home to your mother," he said, "but I won't.
That would be a good ending to a day gone wrong, but not the best.
Come."

He supported her to his motor, a high-power runabout, and helped her in.
Never before had she sat in such reclining comfort. It was better than
sitting up in bed.

"We'll send your mother a telegram from New Rochelle so that she won't
worry," he said. "Just you let yourself go and try to enjoy everything.
Fortunately I know of a shoe store in New Rochelle. It won't be open;
but the proprietor has rooms above the store, and he'll be glad to make
a sale even if it is Sunday. The first principle to be observed in a
pleasant outing is a pair of comfortable feet."

"But I have no money," protested Lila.

"I have," said the young man; "too much, some people think."

Lila had been taught that if she accepted presents from young men she
put herself more or less in their power.

They whirled noiselessly across Pelham Bridge. Lila had given up in the
matter of accepting a present of shoes. In so doing she feared that she
had committed herself definitely to the paths that lead to destruction.
And when, having tried in vain to get a table at two inns between New
Rochelle and Larchmont, the young man said that he would take her to his
own home to dinner, she felt sure of it. But she was too tired to care,
and in the padded seat, and the new easy shoes, too blissfully
comfortable. They had sent