her room for you quite away from them.
Leave your furniture with a week's rent, and take your trunk quietly
away to-morrow in a cab without saying a word to anyone. This is the new
address, and here's the money for your expenses. They're dangerous for
you, those people."

The little model muttered desperately: "But I don't care what they do!"

Hilary went on: "Listen! You mustn't come here again, or the man will
trace you. We will take care you have what's necessary till you can get
other work."

The little model looked up at him without a word. Now that the thin
link which bound her to some sort of household gods had snapped, all the
patience and submission bred in her by village life, by the hard facts
of her story, and by these last months in London, served her well
enough. She made no fuss. Hilary saw a tear roll down her cheek.

He turned his head away, and said: "Don't cry, my child!"

Quite obediently the little model swallowed the tear. A thought seemed
to strike her:

"But I could see you, Mr. Dallison, couldn't I, sometimes?"

Seeing from his face that this was not in the programme, she stood
silent again, looking up at him.

It was a little difficult for Hilary to say: "I can't see you because my
wife is jealous!" It was cruel to tell her: "I don't want to see you!"
besides, it was not true.

"You'll soon be making friends," he said at last, "and you can always
write to me"; and with a queer smile he added: "You're only just
beginning life; you mustn't take these things to heart; you'll find
plenty of people better able to advise and help you than ever I shall
be!"

The little model answered this by seizing his hand with both of hers.
She dropped it again at once, as if guilty of presumption, and stood
with her head bent. Hilary, looking down on the little hat which, by his
special wish, contained no feathers, felt a lump rise in his throat.

"It's funny," he said; "I don't know your Christian name."

"Ivy," muttered the little model.

"Ivy! Well, I'll write to you. But you must promise me to do exactly as
I said."

The girl looked up; her face was almost ugly--like a child's in whom a
storm of feeling is repressed.

"Promise!" repeated Hilary.

With a bitter droop of her lower lip, she nodded, and suddenly put her
hand to her heart. That action, of which she was clearly unconscious,
so naively, so almost automatically was it done, nearly put an end to
Hilary's determination.

"Now you