nt the Home for Working Girls that lay in
those parts. Looking up at the large, red-fronted building, with its
countless uncurtained windows, Joan realized that the man's description
was probably nearer the truth than her own.

She was to learn later that on this particular occasion she saw Digby
Street at its very worst, for it was Saturday night, and barrows of
fish, meat and vegetables stood along the pavements, illuminated by
flares of light so that all the ugliness was only too apparent. Little
children played in and out, under the barrows and along the gutters; a
public-house stood at the corner near Shamrock House, and exactly
opposite the Salvation Army added its brass band and shrill voices to
the general tumult.

Joan's first timid attempt at the bell produced no answer, nor her
second. By this time the cabman had dismounted her box and stood staring
at her in sullen disapproval, while a couple of very drunk but cheerful
costers argued with each other as to whether they ought not to help the
young lady to get in. Her third effort was perhaps more violent, for, to
her relief, she could see the dim light in the hall being turned up and
the door was opened on the chain and very slightly ajar. A couple of
bright eyes peered at her through this opening, then, having apparently
satisfied their owner that Joan was neither dangerous nor drunk, the
door was further opened, and Joan could see into the red-tiled hall and
passage with its numbered, white-painted doors.

"What do you want?" asked the lady of the eyes; a small, plump person
with grey hair brushed back very straight from an apple-red face.

"I want a room," Joan explained. "I have been recommended to come here.
I do hope you have one to spare."

The little lady moved aside and beckoned to the cabman. "You can come
in," she said, "and the man had better fetch in your box. I thought it
was one of those troublesome children when you first rang, it was so
very violent, and they make a point of trying to break the bells."

"I am so sorry," Joan murmured meekly, an apology she realized was
expected from her. "I was so dreadfully tired and no one seemed to be
going to answer."

"We do not keep a staff of servants to answer the bell day and night,"
the woman answered. "Still, I am sorry you were kept waiting. Will you
come in here"--she opened a door a little way down the passage--"this is
my office. I must see your letter of recommendation before I let you