Mastering the weakness of tears, she furtively dried her eyes and endeavoured not to think at all—­not to dwell on the memory of her “Dad” whom she had loved so tenderly, and all the sweet surroundings of Briar Farm which already seemed so far away.  Robin would be sorry she had gone—­indeed he would be very miserable for a time—­she was certain of that!—­and Priscilla! yes, Priscilla had loved her as her own child,—­here her thoughts began running riot again, and she moved impatiently.  Just then the old gentleman with the “Morning Post” folded it neatly and, bending forward, offered it to her.

“Would you like to see the paper?” he asked, politely.

The warm colour flushed her cheeks—­she accepted it shyly.

“Thank you very much!” she murmured—­and, gratefully shielding her tearful eyes behind the convenient news-sheet, she began glancing up and down the front page with all its numerous announcements, from the “Agony” column down to the latest new concert-singers and sailings of steamers.

Suddenly her attention was caught by the following advertisement—­

“A Lady of good connection and position will be glad to take another lady as Paying Guest in her charming house in Kensington.  Would suit anyone studying art or for a scholarship.  Liberal table and refined surroundings.  Please communicate with ‘Lavinia’ at—­” Here followed an address.

Over and over again Innocent read this with a sort of fascination.  Finally, taking from her pocket a little note-book and pencil, she copied it carefully.

“I might go there,” she thought—­“If she is a poor lady wanting money, she might be glad to have me as a ‘paying guest,’ Anyhow, it will do no harm to try.  I must find some place to rest in, if only for a night.”

Here she became aware that the old gentleman who had lent her the paper was eyeing her curiously yet kindly.  She met his glance with a mixture of frankness and timidity which gave her expression a wonderful charm.  He ventured to speak as he might have spoken to a little child.

“Are you going to London for the first time?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

He smiled.  He had a pleasant smile, distinctly humorous and good-natured.

“It’s a great adventure!” he said—­“Especially for a little girl, all alone.”

She coloured.

“I’m not a little girl,” she answered, with quaint dignity—­“I’m eighteen.”

“Really!”—­and the old gentleman looked more humorous than ever—­ “Oh well!—­of course you are quite old.  But, you see, I am seventy, so to me you seem a little girl.  I suppose your friends will meet you in London?”

She hesitated—­then answered, simply—­

“No.  I have no friends.  I am going to earn my living.”

The old gentleman whistled.  It was a short, low whistle at first, but it developed into a bar of “Sally in our Alley,” Then he looked round—­the other people in the compartment, the husband and wife, were asleep.