“My car’s outside,” he told the blonde person briefly.  “We’ll see this Gracie at once and find out just what’s to be done.”

It was past the hour for visitors, but Vandervelde’s card procured them admittance to the ward where Gracie lay.  At sight of the big-eyed, white-faced, wasted little creature who looked at him with such a frightened and beseeching stare, Vandervelde’s suspicions of her died.  No matter what she had been,—­and the house-physician’s brief comment on her case left him in no doubt,—­this poor wrecked bit of humanity beached upon the bleak shore of a charity ward was harmless.  He absolved her of all evil intent, of any desire to obtain anything under false pretenses.  He even absolved the blonde person, who despite her brassy hair, her hectic face, had of a sudden become a kind, gentle, and soothing presence.  “Well, dearie, you got a straight tip from that feller.  All I had to do was to show that piece o’ paper he give you, and this kind gent’man come right off to see you,” said the blonde cheerfully.  “An’ now maybe he’ll be wantin’ to talk with you, so I’ll leave you be.  Good night, dearie,” and she stepped away quietly, a trail of perfume in her wake, so that Vandervelde’s nose involuntarily wrinkled.

Gracie lay and looked at her visitor.

“You ain’t his uncle.  You don’t look nothin’ at all like him,” said she, disappointedly.

“No.  His uncle is dead.  I’m the lawyer who has the estate in charge.  So you can tell me just exactly what you know about Mr. Peter Champneys, and then tell me what I can do for you.”

He spoke so kindly that Gracie’s spirits revived.  She told him just exactly what she knew about Mr. Peter Champneys, which of course was very, very little.  Yet this much was luminously clear:  of all the men Gracie had ever encountered, of all her experiences, Peter Champneys and the hour he had sat and talked with her stood out clearest, clean, touched with a soft and pure light, a solitary sweet remembrance in a sodden and sordid existence.

“Like a angel, he was.  I never seen nobody with such a way o’ lookin’ at you.  Never pretended he didn’t understand, but treated me like a lady.  I couldn’t never forget him.  I kep’ the piece o’ paper he give me, mostly because it was somethin’ belongin’ to him an’ it sort o’ proved I hadn’t dreamed him.  I never meant to ask for no help—­but when I come here—­an’ there wasn’t nothin’ else to do, I kep’ rememberin’ he said I was to go to his uncle an’ say he’d sent me.  I—­I’m scared!  My Gawd!—­I’m scared!”

He remembered once seeing a trapped rabbit die of sheer terror.  This girl, trapped by the inevitable, reminded him unpleasantly of the rabbit.  His kind heart contracted.  He asked gently: 

“What is it you are so afraid of, Gracie?  Try to tell me just what you want me to do for you.”  Perspiration appeared upon her forehead.  She clutched him with a skeleton hand.