n. It was
such a change to have someone to talk to, she said, because they had
moved and knew nobody here. She told me that she tried to earn money by
teaching music and by painting. I said that I was badly in want of a few
little sketches, and she promised to bring some for me to look at.

"I would ask you to accept them," she said, with a flush, "if we weren't
so poor."

"If it weren't for that," I said, "I should ask you to have some tea
before I leave you, without fear that you would be too proud to accept.
It would be a pleasure to me. Will you?" We were just outside a good
place, and I stopped.

"It is very kind of you," she said, "but I don't think--I suppose I _am_
foolishly proud." She laughed an uneasy laugh.

"You mustn't let your pride spoil my pleasure," I told her, and grinned
at myself for talking like a book. "You can repay me when you find your
fortune, if you insist; but I hope you won't."

She looked up at me quickly.

"No," she said. "I couldn't treat your kindness like that. Thank you,
Mr. Levy."

So we went in, and I ordered tea and chicken and cakes. The poor little
thing was positively hungry, I could see; and when she mentioned her
mother the tears came into her eyes. I understood what she was thinking,
and I had some meat patties put up in a package. When I left her at the
corner of her road I put the package into her hands, and boarded a 'bus
with a run before she had time to object. She shook her head at me when
I was on top of the 'bus; but when I took off my hat she waved her hand,
and laughed as if she was a great mind to cry. It's hard for an old
woman and a young girl when they're left like that.

I had the corners of that ditty-box off as soon as Isaac had gone for
the night. The lid was double, as she had said. Between the two boards I
found a portrait of an elderly woman--her mother, no doubt--and three
photos of herself; two in short frocks and one with her hair in a plait
when she was about seventeen. She looked stouter and jollier then, poor
girl. There was one other thing: a half sheet of note-paper. "Memo in
case of accident. Money up chimney in best bedroom. Geo. Markby, sixth
of April, 1897."

I started to change my clothes to go there and tell them; but just as I
had taken off my waistcoat I altered my mind. The money wouldn't be in
the rooms where they lived then, but in their old house; and that was
probably occupied by someone else now, and even if the money was