uncertain where to seek a lodging.  She had some thought of taking the Tube, and looking about her in the direction of Hammersmith, but her one thought now was to get indoors with as little delay as possible.  She remembered that there was a maze of private houses along the Tottenham Court Road, in many of which she had often noticed that there was displayed a card, announcing that apartments were to let.  She took a ’bus to the Tottenham Court Road.  Arrived there, she got out and walked along it, to turn, presently, to the right.  Most of the houses, for all their substantial fronts, had an indefinable atmosphere of being down at heel, perhaps because many were almost in darkness.  They looked like houses that were in no sense of the word homes.  She selected one of the least forbidding and knocked at the door.  After waiting some time, she heard footsteps scuffling along the passage.  A blowsy, elderly, red-faced woman opened the door.  She was clad in a greasy flannel dressing gown; unbrushed hair fell on her shoulders; naked, unclean toes protruded through holes in her stockings and slippers.

“Good evening, dear,” said the woman.  Mavis turned to go.

“Was you wanting rooms, my dear?”

“I was.”

“I’ve the very thing you want.  Don’t run away.”

Mavis hesitated.

“Don’t judge of ’em by me.  I ain’t been quite myself, as you, being another lady, can quite understand, an’ I overslep’ myself a bit; but if you’ll walk inside, you’ll be glad you didn’t go elsewhere.”

Mavis was so tired, that she persuaded herself that the landlady’s appearance might not be indicative (as it invariably is) of the character of the rooms.

“One moment.  Oo sent yer?” asked the woman.

“No one.  I saw—­”

“Didn’t Foxy?”

“No one did.  I saw the card in the window.”

“Please to walk upstairs.”

Mavis followed the woman up unswept stairs to the first floor, where the landlady fumbled with a key in the lock of a door.

“S’pose you know Foxy?” she queried.

“No.  Who is he?”

“’E goes about the West End and brings me lady lodgers.”

“I’m from the country,” remarked Mavis.

“You a dear little bird from far away?  You’ve fallen on a pretty perch, my dear, an’ you can thank Gawd you ain’t got with some as I could mention.”

By this time, they had got into the room, where the landlady lighted one jet of a dirty chandelier.

“There now!” cried the landlady triumphantly.

Mavis looked about her at the gilt-framed glass over the mantelpiece, the table, the five chairs (including one arm), the sofa and the chiffonnier, which was pretty well all the furniture that the room contained.  The remains of a fire untidied the grate; the flimsiest curtains were hung before the windows.  The landlady was quick to notice the look of disappointment on the girl’s face.