“I found you outside as I came ’ome.  I couldn’t very well leave you like that.”

“You’re very kind.”

“’Elp that you may be ‘elped is my motto.  An’ then you didn’t smell of drink.  I wouldn’t ’ave took you in if you had.  Girls who’re ’on the game’ who drink ought to know better, and don’t deserve sympathy.”

Mavis stared at her wide-eyed, striving to recalled where she had heard that expression before, also what it meant.

“You sit quiet, dear; you’ll be better directly,” said the woman.  “I’ve got to wash this stuff off.  Beastly nuisance, but, if you don’t, it stains the sheets and pillers, as I daresay you know.”

Had Mavis possessed sufficient strength she would have combated this suggestion; it was as much as she could do to concentrate her wandering attention on the doings of the woman who had played good Samaritan in her extremity.

Mavis saw her cleanse the other side of her face and remove two false teeth from her mouth, actions which completed the transformation from that of a comely, interesting-looking, youngish woman to that of an elderly, extremely commonplace person with foxy, shifty eyes.

“Now I’m ‘done.’  I never feel reely at home till I get into my shirt sleeves, as you might say,” remarked the woman.

Mavis sat up.

“’Ave a drink?” asked her benefactor.

“No, thank you.”

“I don’t mind a drop out of business hours, when I feel I’ve earned it, as you might say.  I’ve got a quartern in a bottle.  If I’d expected visitors, I’d have got more, but I’ll go ’alves.”

“No, thank you,” repeated Mavis.

“Ah!  Don’t mind if I do?” said the woman, in the manner of one relieved of the possibility of parting with something that she would prefer to keep.

“Not at all.”

The woman heated some water in a tin kettle, before mixing herself hot gin and water in a tooth glass, the edge of which was smudged with tooth powder.

“Smoke?”

“I do, sometimes,” replied Mavis.

“Have a fag?  A gentleman brought me these to-night.”

Mavis somewhat reluctantly took and lit a cigarette.  The woman did likewise, sipped her grog, and then brought a chair in order that she might sit by Mavis.

“What might your name be?”

“Keeves,” answered Mavis shortly.

“Mine’s Ewer—­’Tilda Ewer.  Miss, thank Gawd.”

“You wear a wedding ring.”

“Eh!  That’s business.  And ’ow did you come to be overtook outside this ’ouse?”

“I walked far and was very tired.”

“Rats!”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Don’t tell me.  ‘Ad a row with your boy, an’ ’e biffed you on the ’ead.  That’s nearer the truth.  And that’s the worst of gentlemen in drink; but then, at other times, they’re generous enough when they’re in liquor, and don’t mind if you help yourself to any spare cash they may ’appen to ’ave about them.  It’s as long as it’s broad.”