She walked up a steep, narrow flight of carpeted stairs; this terminated in a long, low room, the walls of which were of black oak, and which was nearly filled with a gaily dressed crowd of men and women.  The sensuous music of a string band fell on her ear; the smell of tea and the indefinable odour of women were borne to her nostrils.  A card was put in her hand, telling her that a palmist could be consulted on the next floor.  In and out among the tables, attendants, clad in the garb of sixteenth century Flemish peasant women, moved noiselessly.

Mavis got a table to herself in a corner by a window which overlooked the street.  She ordered tea and toast.  When it was brought, she did her best to put her extremity out of sight; she tried hard to believe that she, too, led a happy, butterfly existence, without anxious thought for the morrow, without a care in the world.  The effort was scarcely a success, but was, perhaps, worth the making.  As she sat, she noticed a kindly-looking old gentlewoman who was pointing her out to a companion; for all the old woman’s somewhat dowdy garb, she had rich woman stamped all over her.  The old lady kept on looking at Mavis; once or twice, when the latter caught her eye, the elder woman smiled.  When she rose to go, she came over to Mavis and said: 

“Forgive me, my dear, but your hair looks wonderful against that imitation oak.”

“Does it?  But it isn’t imitation too,” replied Mavis.

“Forgive me, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“May I ask your name?”

“Keeves.  Mavis Keeves.”

“A good name,” muttered the old lady.  “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

Mavis saw her move towards the door; when she reached it, she turned to smile again to Mavis before going out.

“What a fool I am!” thought Mavis.  “If I’d only told her I wanted work, she’d have helped me to something.  What a fool I am!”

Mavis rose as if to follow the kindly old soul; but she was too late.  As she got up, she saw her step into a fine carriage, which, after the footman had closed the door and mounted the box, had driven away.  Mavis sat helplessly.  It seemed as if she were as a drowning person who had been offered the chance of clutching a straw, but had refused to take it.  There was little likelihood of her getting a second chance.  She must resign herself to the worst.  She had forgotten; one hope was still left, one she had, hitherto, lost sight of:  this to pray to her Heavenly Father, to remind Him that she, as a human sparrow, was in danger of falling; to implore succour.  Although she had knelt morning and evening at her bedside, it had lately been more from force of habit than anything else; her heart had not inspired her lips.  There had been some reason for this:  every morning she had been devoured by eagerness to get work; at night, she had been too weary and dispirited to pray earnestly.  Mavis covered her eyes with her hands; she prayed heartfully and long for help.  Words welled from her being; their burden was: