francs for us; and we just managed to buy our tickets.  Felicia didn’t want to come, but I made her.  I couldn’t see her die before my eyes.  We’ve starved for months.  We’ve parted with everything, and I’ve written to Mr. Melrose again and again.  He’s never answered—­till a few weeks ago, and he said if we troubled him again he’d stop the money.  He’s a bad, bad man.”

Shaking, her teeth chattering, her hands clenched at her side, the forlorn creature stared at Victoria.  She was not old, but she was a wreck; a withered, emaciated wreck of the woman Victoria had once seen twenty years before.

Victoria, laying a gentle hand upon her, drew an armchair forward.

“Sit down, please, and rest.  You shall have food directly.  I will have rooms got ready.  And this is your daughter?”

She went up to the girl who stood shivering like her mother, and speechless.  But her proud black eyes met Victoria’s with a passion in them that seemed to resent a touch, a look.  “She ought to be lovely!” thought Victoria; “she is—­if one could feed and dress her.”

“You poor child!  Come and lie down.”

She took hold of the girl and guided her to a sofa.  When they reached it, the little creature fell half fainting upon it.  But she controlled herself by an astonishing effort, thanked Victoria in Italian, and curling herself up in a corner she closed her eyes.  The white profile on the dark sofa cushion was of a most delicate perfection, and as Victoria helped to remove her hat she saw a small dark head covered with short curls like a boy’s.

Netta Melrose looked round the beautiful room, its pictures, its deep sofas and chairs, its bright fire, and then at the figures of Victoria and the housekeeper in the distance.  Victoria was giving her orders.  The tears were on Netta’s cheeks.  Yet she had the vague, ineffable feeling of one just drawn from the waves.  She had done right.  She had saved herself and Felicia.

Food was brought, and wine.  They were coaxed to eat, warmed and comforted.  Then Victoria took them up through the broad, scented passages of the beautiful house to rooms that had been got ready for them.

“Don’t talk any more to-night.  You shall tell me everything to-morrow.  My maid will help you.  I will come back presently to see you have everything you want.”

Felicia, frowning, wished to unpack their small hand-bag, with its shabby contents, for herself.  But she was too feeble, and the maid, in spite of what seemed to the two forlorn ones her fine clothes and fine ways, was kind and tactful.  Victoria’s wardrobe was soon laid under contribution; beautiful linen, and soft silken things she possessed but seldom wore, were brought out for her destitute guests.

Victoria came in to say good-night.  Netta looked at the stately woman, the hair just beginning to be gray, the strong face with its story of fastidious thought, of refined and sheltered living.