And he went his way, thinking and wondering, while Innocent went hers, without any thought at all, in a blind and simple faith that God would take care of her.

CHAPTER XII

To be whirled along through the crowded streets of London in a taxi-cab for the first time in one’s life must needs be a somewhat disconcerting, even alarming experience, and Innocent was the poor little prey of so many nervous fears during her journey to Kensington in this fashion, that she could think of nothing and realise nothing except that at any moment it seemed likely she would be killed.  With wide-open, terrified eyes, she watched the huge motor-omnibuses almost bearing down upon the vehicle in which she sat, and shivered at the narrow margin of space the driver seemed to allow for any sort of escape from instant collision and utter disaster.  She only began to breathe naturally again when, turning away out of the greater press of traffic, the cab began to run at a smoother and less noisy pace, till presently, in less time than she could have imagined possible, it drew up at a modestly retreating little door under an arched porch in a quiet little square, where there were some brave and pretty trees doing their best to be green, despite London soot and smoke.  Innocent stepped out, and seeing a bell-handle pulled it timidly.  The summons was answered by a very neat maid-servant, who looked at her in primly polite enquiry.

“Is Mrs.—­or Miss ‘Lavinia’ at home?” she murmured.  “I saw her advertisement in the ‘Morning Post.’”

The servant’s face changed from primness to propitiation.

“Oh yes, miss!  Please step in!  I’ll tell Miss Leigh.”

“Thank you.  I’ll pay the driver.”

She thereupon paid for the cab and dismissed it, and then followed the maid into a very small but prettily arranged hall, and from thence into a charming little drawing-room, with French windows set open, showing a tiny garden beyond—­a little green lawn, smooth as velvet, and a few miniature flower-beds gay with well-kept blossoms.

“Would you please take a seat, miss?” and the maid placed a chair.  “Miss Leigh is upstairs, but she’ll be down directly.”

She left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Innocent sat still, satchel in hand, looking wistfully about her.  The room appealed to her taste in its extreme simplicity—­and it instinctively suggested to her mind resigned poverty making the best of itself.  There were one or two old miniatures on little velvet stands set on the mantelpiece—­these were beautiful, and of value; some engravings of famous pictures adorned the walls, all well chosen; the quaint china bowl on the centre table was full of roses carefully arranged—­and there was a very ancient harpsichord in one corner which apparently served only as a stand for the portrait of a man’s strikingly handsome face, near which was placed a vase containing a stem