"I don't know what to do," added Doris in tones of despair.
"There'll be servants in this big house, won't they take you in for the remainder of the night, at least," suggested the man.
"I dare say they would if they were alone," answered Doris. "But there is a man in the house--I cannot call him a gentleman--who says everything is now his, and that I have no claim upon him, and he will do nothing for me."
The cabman muttered something strong, and then broke off to apologise for speaking so roughly. "You'll excuse me, miss," he added, "if I say I should like to punch the fellar's 'ead. May I go to the door and make 'em take you in if I can?" he asked finally.
"No, thank you," replied Doris. "I am poor and homeless"--her lips quivered--"but I am too proud to intrude where I am not wanted." She turned her head on one side.
The horse started forward a step or two, and the cabman went to its head. A sudden gust of wind and rain swept over Doris through the open door, causing her to shiver. The man returned to her side.
"We can't stay here any longer, miss," he said.
"No"--Doris hesitated--"no, but----" she paused.
"Where shall I take you, lady?" asked the cabman.
"I don't know," replied Doris miserably.