’’Ere, ‘old your tongue,’ bleated Spilsby, angrily, ’or I’ll tell the perlice at the corner.’

‘And much I care,’ retorted the shrill-voiced female, ’seeing he’s a particular friend of mine.’

‘For God’s sake tell me where I can find a place to stop in,’ whispered Kitty to the coffee-stall keeper.

‘Come with me, dear,’ said Portwine Annie, eagerly, having overheard what was said, but Kitty shrank back, and then gathering her cloak around her ran down the street.

‘What do you do that for, you jade?’ said Spilsby, in a vexed tone; ‘don’t you see the girl’s a lady.’

‘Of course she is,’ retorted the other, finishing her pie; ’we’re all ladies; look at our dresses, ain’t they fine enough?  Look at our houses, aren’t they swell enough?’

‘Yes, and yer morals, ain’t they bad enough?’ said Spilsby, washing up the dirty plate.

‘They’re quite as good as many ladies in society, at all events,’ replied Portwine Annie, with a toss of her head as she walked off.

‘Oh, it’s a wicked world,’ bleated Spilsby, in a soft voice, looking after the retreating figure.  ’I’m sorry for that poor gal—­I am indeed—­but this ain’t business,’ and once more raising his voice he cried up his wares, ’Oh, lovely; ain’t they muttony?  Spilsby’s specials, all ‘ot; one penny.’

Meanwhile Kitty was walking quickly down Elizabeth Street, and turning round the corner ran right up against a woman.

‘Hullo!’ said the woman, catching her wrist, ‘where are you off to?’

‘Let me go,’ cried Kitty, in a panting voice.

The woman was tall and handsome, but her face had a kindly expression on it, and she seemed touched with the terrified tone of the girl.

‘My poor child,’ she said, half contemptuously, releasing her, ’I won’t hurt you.  Go if you like.  What are you doing out at this time of the night?’

‘Nothing,’ faltered Kitty, with quivering lips, lifting her face up to the pale moon.  The other saw it in the full light and marked how pure and innocent it was.

‘Go home, dear,’ she said, in a soft tone, touching the girl kindly on the shoulder, ’it’s not fit for you to be out at this hour.  You are not one of us.’

‘My God! no,’ cried Kitty, shrinking away from her.

The other smiled bitterly.

‘Ah! you draw away from me now,’ she said, with a sneer; ’but what are you, so pure and virtuous, doing on the streets at this hour?  Go home in time, child, or you will become like me.’

‘I have no home,’ said Kitty, turning to go.

‘No home!’ echoed the other, in a softer tone; ’poor child!  I cannot take you with me—­God help me; but here is some money,’ forcing a shilling into the girl’s hand, ’go to Mrs Rawlins at Victoria Parade, Fitzroy—­anyone will tell you where it is—­and she will take you in.’

‘What kind of a place is it?’ said Kitty.

‘A home for fallen women, dear,’ answered the other, kindly.