“I don’t see why you shouldn’t be some day.  Mr Poulter might reward you that way for your years of faithful service.”

As Mavis walked back to Kiva Street, she asked herself the question that Miss Nippett had asked her, “Was she ambitious?”

Now, her chief concern was to earn her daily bread.  It was not so very long ago that her ambition was in some way bound up with the romantic fancies which she was then so fond of weaving.  Now, the prospect of again having to fight for the privilege of bread-winning drove all thought from her mind beyond this one desire—­to keep afloat without exhibiting signals of distress to the Devitts.

Three days before Mavis left “Poulter’s,” she assisted at a Third Saturday Night which was held, as usual, on that Saturday of the month at the Athenaeum, Shepherd’s Bush.

Mavis, dressed in her one evening frock and wearing her few trinkets, went to the Athenaeum an hour before the public was expected, in order to rehearse with the “Godolphin Band,” which was always engaged for these occasions.  She was in some trepidation at having to accompany professional musicians on the piano; she hoped that they would not find fault with her playing.  When she got to the hall, she found Mr Poulter already there in evening dress, vainly striving to conceal his excitement.

“Aren’t you nervous?” he asked.

“I am rather,” she replied, as she took off her coat.

“Oh, my dear, may an old man say how beautiful you look?”

“Why not?” asked Mavis, whose eyes were shining at the unexpectedness of the compliment.

Mr Poulter looked at her intently for a few moments before saying: 

“Haven’t you a father or mother?”

Mavis shook her head.

“Neither kith nor kin?”

“I’m all alone in the world,” she replied sadly.

A sorrowful expression came over the old man’s face as he said with much fervour: 

“God bless you, my dear.  May He keep you from pain and all harm.”

Mavis was seized with a sudden impulse.  She took the white head in her warm arms and kissed him fondly on the forehead.

Mr Poulter turned away and pretended to have trouble with one of his dancing pumps.

A minute or two later, three grimy, uncouth-looking men came into the hall, whom Mavis took to be gasmen.

“Here’s the ‘Godolphin Band,’” said Mr Poulter, as he caught sight of them.

“All except Baffy:  ’e’s always late,” remarked one of the men.

Mavis was introduced to the three members of the band, all of whom seemed to be somewhat abashed by her striking appearance.

“What about evening dress?” asked Mr Poulter of the trio.

Two of the men coughed and hesitated before saying: 

’Very sorry, Mr Poulter, but Christmas coming and all that, sir—­”

“I understand,” sighed the dancing-master sympathetically; he then turned to the tallest of the three to ask: