Joan　did　not　understand。　　〃In　what　way？〃　she　asked。
  〃Oh；　you　know；　men；〃　answered　the　girl。　　〃They　come　and　sit　down　opposite　to　you；　and　won't　leave　you　alone。　　At　most　of　the　places；　you've　got　to　put　up　with　it　or　go　outside。　　Here；　old　Gustav　never　permits　it。〃
  Joan　was　troubled。　　She　was　rather　looking　forward　to　occasional　restaurant　dinners；　where　she　would　be　able　to　study　London's　Bohemia。
  〃You　mean；〃　she　asked；　〃that　they　force　themselves　upon　you；　even　if　you　make　it　plain〃
  〃Oh；　the　plainer　you　make　it　that　you　don't　want　them；　the　more　sport　they　think　it；〃　interrupted　the　girl　with　a　laugh。
  Joan　hoped　she　was　exaggerating。　　〃I　must　try　and　select　a　table　where　there　is　some　good…natured　girl　to　keep　me　in　countenance；〃　she　said　with　a　smile。
  〃Yes；　I　was　glad　to　see　you；〃　answered　the　girl。　　〃It's　hateful；　dining　by　oneself。　　Are　you　living　alone？〃
  〃Yes；〃　answered　Joan。　　〃I'm　a　journalist。〃
  〃I　thought　you　were　something；〃　answered　the　girl。　　〃I'm　an　artist。　Or；　rather；　was；〃　she　added　after　a　pause。
  〃Why　did　you　give　it　up？〃　asked　Joan。
  〃Oh；　I　haven't　given　it　up；　not　entirely；〃　the　girl　answered。　　〃I　can　always　get　a　couple　of　sovereigns　for　a　sketch；　if　I　want　it；　from　one　or　another　of　the　frame…makers。　　And　they　can　generally　sell　them　for　a　fiver。　　I've　seen　them　marked　up。　　Have　you　been　long　in　London？〃
  〃No；〃　answered　Joan。　　〃I'm　a　Lancashire　lass。〃
  〃Curious；〃　said　the　girl；　〃so　am　I。　　My　father's　a　mill　manager　near　Bolton。　　You　weren't　educated　there？〃
  〃No；〃　Joan　admitted。　　〃I　went　to　Rodean　at　Brighton　when　I　was　ten　years　old；　and　so　escaped　it。　　Nor　were　you；〃　she　added　with　a　smile；　〃judging　from　your　accent。〃
  〃No；〃　answered　the　other；　〃I　was　at　HastingsMiss　Gwyn's。　　Funny　how　we　seem　to　have　always　been　near　to　one　another。　　Dad　wanted　me　to　be　a　doctor。　　But　I'd　always　been　mad　about　art。〃
  Joan　had　taken　a　liking　to　the　girl。　　It　was　a　spiritual；　vivacious　face　with　frank　eyes　and　a　firm　mouth；　and　the　voice　was　low　and　strong。
  〃Tell　me；〃　she　said；　〃what　interfered　with　it？〃　　Unconsciously　she　was　leaning　forward；　her　chin　supported　by　her　hands。　　Their　faces　were　very　near　to　one　another。
  The　girl　looked　up。　　She　did　not　answer　for　a　moment。　　There　came　a　hardening　of　the　mouth　before　she　spoke。
  〃A　baby；〃　she　said。　　〃Oh；　it　was　my　own　fault；〃　she　continued。　　〃I　wanted　it。　　It　was　all　the　talk　at　the　time。　　You　don't　remember。　Our　right　to　children。　　No　woman　complete　without　one。　　Maternity；　woman's　kingdom。　　All　that　sort　of　thing。　　As　if　the　storks　brought　them。　　Don't　suppose　it　made　any　real　difference；　but　it　just　helped　me　to　pretend　that　it　was　something　pretty　and　high…class。　'Overmastering　passion'　used　to　be　the　explanation；　before　that。　　I　guess　it's　all　much　of　a　muchness：　　just　natural　instinct。〃
  The　restaurant　had　been　steadily　emptying。　　Monsieur　Gustav　and　his　ample…bosomed　wife　were　seated　at　a　distant　table；　eating　their　own　dinner。
  〃Why　couldn't　you　have　married？〃　asked　Joan。
  The　girl　shrugged　her　shoulders。　　〃Who　was　there　for　me　to　marry？〃　she　answered。　　〃The　men　who　wanted　me：　　clerks；　young　tradesmen；　down　at　homeI　wasn't　taking　any　of　that　lot。　　And　the　men　I　might　have　fancied　were　all　of　them　too　poor。　　There　was　one　student。　He's　got　on　since。　　Easy　enough　for　him　to　talk　about　waiting。　Meanwhile。　　Well；　it's　like　somebody　suggesting　dinner　to　you　the　day　after　to…morrow。　　All　right　enough；　if　you're　not　troubled　with　an　appetite。〃
  The　waiter　came　to　clear　the　table。　　They　were　almost　the　last　customers　left。　　The　man's　tone　and　manner　jarred　upon　Joan。　　She　had　not　noticed　it　before。　　Joan　ordered　coffee　and　the　girl；　exchanging　a　joke　with　the　waiter；　added　a　liqueur。
  〃But　why　should　you　give　up　your　art？〃　persisted　Joan。　　It　was　that　was　sticking　in　her　mind。　　〃I　should　have　thought　that；　if　only　for　the　sake　of　the　child；　you　would　have　gone　on　with　it。〃
  〃Oh；　I　told　myself　all　that；〃　answered　the　girl。　　〃Was　going　to　devote　my　life　to　it。　　Did　for　nearly　two　years。　　Till　I　got　sick　of　living　like　a　nun：　　never　getting　a　bit　of　excitement。　　You　see；　I've　got　the　poison　in　me。　　Or；　maybe；　it　had　always　been　there。〃
  〃What's　become　of　it？〃　asked　Joan。　　〃The　child？〃
  〃Mother's　got　it；〃　answered　the　girl。　　〃Seemed　best　for　the　poor　little　beggar。　　I'm　supposed　to　be　dead；　and　my　husband　gone　abroad。〃　　She　gave　a　short；　dry　laugh。　　〃Mother　brings　him　up　to　see　me　once　a　year。　　They've　got　quite　fond　of　him。〃
  〃What　are　you　doing　now？〃　asked　Joan；　in　a　low　tone。
  〃Oh；　you　needn't　look　so　scared；〃　laughed　the　girl；　〃I　haven't　come　down　to　that。〃　　Her　voice　had　changed。　　It　had　a　note　of　shrillness。　　In　some　indescribable　way　she　had　grown　coarse。　　〃I'm　a　kept　woman；〃　she　explained。　　〃What　else　is　any　woman？〃
  She　reached　for　her　jacket；　and　the　waiter　sprang　forward　and　helped　her　on　with　it；　prolonging　the　business　needlessly。　　She　wished　him　〃Good　evening〃　in　a　tone　of　distant　hauteur；　and　led　the　way　to　the　door。　　Outside　the　street　was　dim　and　silent。　　Joan　held　out　her　hand。
  〃No　hope　of　happy　endings；〃　she　said　with　a　forced　laugh。　〃Couldn't　marry　him　I　suppose？〃
  〃He　has　asked　me；〃　answered　the　girl　with　a　swagger。　　〃Not　sure　that　it　would　suit　me　now。　　They're　not　so　nice　to　you　when　they've　got　you　fixed　up。　　So　long。〃
  She　turned　abruptly　and　walked　rapidly　away。　　Joan　moved　instinctively　in　the　opposite　direction；　and　after　a　few　minutes　found　herself　in　a　broad　well…lighted　thoroughfare。　　A　newsboy　was　shouting　his　wares。
  〃'Orrible　murder　of　a　woman。　　Shockin'　details。　　Speshul；〃　repeating　it　over　and　over　again　in　a　hoarse；　expressionless　monotone。
  He　was　selling　the　papers　like　hot　cakes；　the　purchasers　too　eager　to　even　wait　for　their　change。　　She　wondered；　with　a　little　lump　in　her　throat；　how　many　would　have　stopped　to　buy　had　he　been　calling　instead：　　〃Discovery　of　new　sonnet　by　Shakespeare。　　Extra　special。〃
  Through　swinging　doors；　she　caught　glimpses　of　foul　interiors；　crowded　with　men　and　women　released　from　their　toil；　taking　their　evening　pleasure。　　From　coloured　posters　outside　the　great　theatres　and　music　halls；　vulgarity　and　lewdness　leered　at　her；　side　by　side　with　announcements　that　the　house　was　full。　　From　every　roaring　corner；　scintillating　lights　flared　forth　the　merits　of　this　public　benefactor's　whisky；　of　this　other　celebrity's　beer：　　it　seemed　the　only　message　the　people　cared　to　hear。　　Even　among　the　sirens　of　the　pavement；　she　noticed　that　the　quiet　and　merely　pretty　were　hardly　heeded。　　It　was　everywhere　the　painted　and　the　overdressed　that　drew　the　roving　eyes。
  She　remembered　a　pet　dog　that　someone　had　given　her　when　she　was　a　girl；　and　how　one　afternoon　she　had　walked　with　the　tears　streaming　down　her　face　because；　in　spite　of　her　scoldings　and　her　pleadings；　it　would　keep　stopping　to　lick　up　filth　from　the　roadway。　　A　kindly　passer…by　had　laughed　and　told　her　not　to　mind。
  〃Why；　that's　a　sign　of　breeding；　that　is；　Missie；〃　the　man　had　explained。　　〃It's　the　classy　ones　that　are　always　the　worst。〃
  It　had　come　to　her　afterwards　craving　with　its　soft　brown；　troubled　eyes　for　forgiveness。　　But　she　had　never　been　able　to　break　it　of　the　habit。
  Must　man　for　ever　be　chained　by　his　appetites　to　the　unclean：　　ever　be　driven　back；　dragged　down　again　into　the　dirt　by　his　own　instincts：　　ever　be　rendered　useless　for　all　finer　purposes　by　the　baseness　of　his　own　desires？
  The　City　of　her　Dreams！　　The　mingled　voices　of　the　crowd　shaped　itself　into　a　mocking　laugh。
  It　seemed　to　her　that　it　was　she　that　they　were　laughing　at；　pointing　her　out　to　one　another；　jeering　at　her；　reviling　her；　threatening　her。
  She　hurried　onward　with　bent　head；　trying　to　escape　them。　　She　felt　so　small；　so　helpless。　　Almost　she　cried　out　in　her　despair。
  She　must　have　walked　mechanically。　　Looking　up　she　found　herself　in　her　own　street。　　And　as　she　reached　her　doorway　the　tears　came　suddenly。
  She　heard　a　quick　step　behind　her；　and　turning；　she　saw　a　man　with　a　latch　key　in　his　hand。　　He　passed　her　and　opened　the　door；　and　then；　facing　round；　stood　aside　for　her　to　enter。　　He　was　a　sturdy；　thick…set　man　with　a　strong；　massive　face。　　It　would　have　been　ugly　but　for　the　deep；　flashing　eyes。　　There　was　tenderness　and　humour　in　them。
  〃We　are　next　floor　neighbours；〃　he　said。　　〃My　name's　Phillips。〃
  Joan　thanked　him。　　As　he　held　the　door　open　for　her　their　hands　accidentally　touched。　　Joan　wished　him　good…night　and　went　up　the　stairs。　　There　was　no　light　in　her　room：　　only　the　faint　reflection　of　the　street　lamp　outside。
  She　could　still　see　him：　　the　boyish　smile。　　And　his　voice　that　had　sent　her　tears　back　again　as　if　at　the　word　of　command。
  She　hoped　he　had　not　seen　them。　　What　a　little　fool　she　was。
  A　little　laugh　escaped　her。
  CHAPTER　VI
  One　day　Joan；　lunching　at　the　club；　met　Madge　Singleton。
  〃I've　had　such　a　funny　letter　from　Flossie；〃　said　Joan；　〃begging　me　almost　with　tears　in　her　ink　to　come　to　her　on　Sunday　evening　to　meet　a　'gentleman　friend'　of　hers；　as　she　calls　him；　and　give　her　my　opinion　of　him。　　What　on　earth　is　she　up　to？〃
  〃It's　all　right；〃　answered　Madge。　　〃She　doesn't　really　want　our　opinion　of　himor　rather　she　doesn't　wa