“You’re quite wrong in thinking—­” began Mavis.

“Don’t come the toff with me,” interrupted the woman.  “If you was a reel young lady, you wouldn’t be out on such a night, and alone.  So don’t tell me.  I ain’t lived forty—­twenty-six years for nothink.”

Mavis did not think it worth while to argue the point.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“’Alf-past two.  I suppose I shall ’ave to keep you till the morning.”

“I’ll go directly.  I can knock my landlady up.”

“She’s one of the right sort, eh?  Ask no questions, but stick it on the rent!”

“If my head wasn’t so bad, I’d go at once,” remarked Mavis, who liked Miss Ewer less and less.

The woman took no notice of Mavis’ ungracious speech:  she was staring hard at Mavis’ shoes.

“Fancy wearin’ that lovely dress with them tuppenny shoes!” cried Miss Ewer suddenly.

“They are rather worn.”

“Oh, you young fool!  Beginner, I s’pose.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Must be.  No one else could be such a fool.  Don’t you know the gentlemen is most particular about underclothes, stockings and shoes?”

“It’s a matter of utter indifference to me what the ‘gentlemen’ think,” said Mavis with conviction.

“Go on!”

“Very well, if you don’t believe me, you needn’t.”

“Here, I say, what are you?” asked Miss Ewer.  “Tell me, and then we’ll know where we stand.”

“Tell you what?”

“Are you a naughty girl or a straight girl?”

“What do you mean?”

“Straight girls is them as only takes presents like silk stockings an’ gloves from the gentlemen, like them girls in ’Dawes’.”

“Girls in ’Dawes’!” echoed Mavis.

“They do a lot of ’arm; but yet you can’t blame ’em:  gentlemen will pay for anything rather than plank money down to them naughty girls as live by it.”

“While I’m here, do you mind talking about something else?” asked Mavis angrily.

“I ’ave it.  I ’ave it,” cried Miss Ewer triumphantly.  “You’re one of the lucky ones.  You’re kep’.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“And good luck to you.  Don’t drink, keep him loving and generous, and put by for a rainy day, my dear:  an’ good luck to you.”

“I’m well enough to go now,” said Mavis, as she rose with something of an effort.

“Eh!”

“Thank you very much.  Would you kindly show me the way out?”

“You’ve forgotten something, ain’t yer?”

“What?”

“A little present for me.”

“I’ve no money on me:  really I haven’t.”

“Go on!”

“See!” cried Mavis, as she turned out the pockets of her cloak.

To her great surprise, many gold coins rolled on to the floor.

“Gawd in ’Eaven!” cried Miss Ewer, as she stooped to pick them up.

Mavis wondered how they had got there, till it occurred to her how Windebank, pitying her poverty, must have taken the opportunity of putting the money in her pocket when he insisted upon getting and helping her into her coat at the restaurant.