s far as I could see, neither paint nor powder.
One evening, just as I was turning into Great Smith Street, I found her
at my elbow.

"'You live down there,' she asked in a curious, expressionless way as if
she hardly expected an answer.

"I was startled at her talking to me and at the same time interested.

"'Yes,' I said.

"'It is dark and very dreary,' she went on, talking almost to herself,
'why do you choose such a life?'

"I think the bitterness of my mood must have sounded in my answer, for
suddenly she turned to me and laid a hand on my arm.

"'Leave it then,' she whispered, her face close up against mine, 'leave
it, come home with me.'

"'Home with you,' I repeated, thoroughly astonished, and at that moment
a policeman, tall and stolid, strolled across the road towards us.

"'Don't let him hear what we are saying,' whispered the extraordinary
woman; 'just turn back with me a little way and I will explain to you.'

"Well, I went. Perhaps you can realize why, and I saw for a little into
the outside edge of life as lived by these women. I wonder how I can
best convey to you the horror and pity of it, for we--despite the
greyness of our lives--have something within ourselves to which we can
turn, but they have weighed even hopes and dreams with the weights of
shame, and found their poor value in pounds, shillings and pence. That
is why their eyes as they pass you in the streets are so blank and
expressionless. Each new day brings them nothing, they have learnt all
things, and the groundwork of their knowledge is--sin."

She rose abruptly and moved across to the window, pulling aside the
blue-tinted curtains, staring out over miles and miles of roof-covered
London. From far in the distance Big Ben shone down on her, a round, dim
face in the darkness.

"You are wondering why I stayed with the woman," she went on presently.
"The answer is easy and may make you smile. I met a man, one of the many
she brought to the house, and fell in love with him. I was stupid enough
to forget my surroundings and the circumstances under which he had met
me, or I dreamt that to him also they were only the outside wrappers of
fate, easy to fling aside. Does it sound like a thrilling romance, and
am I making myself out to be the heroine of one crowded hour of glorious
life? Because my hour was never glorious."

She repeated the last word with a wry laugh and turned to face Joan. "I
don't know why I have raked up all this,"