“Oh, Mike! darling Mike, I have left home; I couldn’t live without you; ... aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Of course I’m glad to see you.”

“Then why don’t you kiss me?” she said, jumping on his knees and throwing her arms about his neck.

“What a wicked little girl you are!”

“Wicked!  It is you who make me wicked, my own darling Mike.  I ran away from home for you, all for you; I should have done it for nobody else....  I ran away the day—­the day before yesterday.  My aunt was annoying me for going out in the lane with some young fellows.  I said nothing for a long time.  At last I jumps up, and I says that I would stand it no longer; I told her straight; I says you’ll never see me again, never no more; I’ll go away to London to some one who is awfully nice.  And of course I meant you, my own darling Mike.”  And the room rang with girlish laughter.

“But where are you staying?” said Mike, seriously alarmed.

“Where am I staying?  I’m staying with a young lady friend of mine who lives in Drury Lane, so I’m not far from you.  You can come and see me,” she said, and her face lit with laughter.  “We are rather hard up.  If you could lend me a sovereign I should be so much obliged.”

“Yes, I’ll lend you a sovereign, ten if you like; but I hope you’ll go back to your aunt.  I know the world better than you, my dear little Flossy, and I tell you that Drury Lane is no place for you.”

“I couldn’t go back to aunt; she wouldn’t take me back; besides, I want to remain in London for the present.”

Before she left Mike filled the astonished child’s hands with money, and as she paused beneath his window he threw some flowers towards her, and listened to her laughter ringing through the pale morning.  Now the night was a fading thing, and the town and Thames lay in the faint blue glamour of the dawn.  Another day had begun, and the rattle of a morning cart was heard.  Mike shut the window, hesitating between throwing himself out of it, and going to bed.

“As long as I can remember, I have had these fits of depression, but now they never leave me; I seem more than ever incapable of shaking them off.”

Then he thought of the wickedness he had done, not of the wickedness of his life—­that seemed to him unlimited,—­but of the wickedness accomplished within the last few hours, and he wondered if he had done worse in cheating the young man at cards or giving the money he had won to Flossy.  “Having tasted of money, she will do anything to obtain more.  I suppose she is hopelessly lost, and will go from bad to worse.  But really I don’t see that I am wholly responsible.  I advised her to go home, I could do no more.  But I will get her aunt’s address and write to her.  Or I will inform some of the philanthropic people.”