"This is a back street, almost a slum," I said. "I daresay you have lived in the country always, and just at first it does not seem possible that there should be anything beautiful about a great city. When you get a little older I think that you will see things differently. The beauty of a great city thronged with men and women is a more subtle thing than the mere joy of meadows and hills and country lanes—but it exists all the same. And now," I continued, stopping short upon the pavement, "I must take you to your friends. Tell me where they live. You have the address, perhaps."
"What friends?" she asked me, with wide-open eyes.
"You told the superintendent of police that you had friends in London," I reminded her.
Then she smiled at me—a very dazzling smile, which showed all her white teeth, and which seemed somehow to become reflected in her dark blue eyes.
"But I meant you!" she exclaimed. "I thought that you knew that! There is no one else. You are my friend, I know very well, for you came and spoke kindly to me when I was terrified—terrified to death."
The shadow of gravity rested only for a moment upon her face. She laughed gaily at my consternation.
"Then where am I to take you?" I asked.
"Stupid," she murmured; "I am going with you, of course. Why—why—you don't mind, do you?" she asked, with a sudden catch in her throat.
I felt like a brute, and I hastened to make what amends I could. I smiled at her reassuringly.
"Mind! Of course I don't mind," I declared. "Only, you see, there are three of us—all men—and we live together. I was afraid——"