His voice was so entreating, his manner so deferential, she could not resist. She ventured within a few steps and while he cleared a chair from its books and papers her eyes wandered round. One end of the room was curtained off and the opening between the curtains revealed a bed. The furniture was not what one would expect to find in a garret. It was good and solid but undusted and the upholstery was faded. The general appearance was higgledy-piggledy—hand to mouth domesticity mixed up with the work by which the young man earned, or tried to earn, his living. No signs of a woman's neatness and touches of decoration could be seen.
Lavinia's glances went to the owner of the garret. After all it was only he who was of real interest. She noticed the difficulty he had in lifting a big folio from the chair. He could hardly use his right arm. She saw his hollow cheeks and the dark circles beneath his eyes. She hadn't spent years in the streets amongst the poorest not to know that his wistful look meant want of food—starvation may be.
"Won't you sit down?" he said.
She shook her head.
"This belongs to you," she said, holding out his purse. "I'm so sorry it's empty."
"I'm sorry too. You haven't spent a farthing on yourself and I meant it all for you."
"It was very foolish when you wanted money so badly."
"That doesn't matter. You wouldn't have been here now if I hadn't given it you."
Her eyes lighted up. The same thought had crossed her mind.
"How did you know I lived here?" he went on.