'Yes. I am quite ready, all but my hat.'
'Well?' insisted Jean.
'Well, by chance I met a friend of my family.'
'That was lucky.'
'I thought so. He was nearly ten years older than I. He said he wanted to help me.' Again she paused.
'And didn't he?' Jean asked.
Lady John laid her hand on Miss Levering's shoulder.
'Perhaps, after all, he did,' she said. 'Why do I waste time over myself? I belonged to the little class of armed women. My body wasn't born weak, and my spirit wasn't broken by the habit of slavery. But, as Mrs. Heriot was kind enough to hint, I do know something about the possible fate of homeless girls. What was true a dozen years ago is true to-day. There are pleasant parks, museums, free libraries in our great rich London, and not one single place where destitute women can be sure of work that isn't killing, or food that isn't worse than prison fare. That's why women ought not to sleep o' nights till this Shelter stands spreading out wide arms.'
'No, no,' said the girl, jumping up.
'Even when it's built,'—Mrs. Heriot was angrily gathering up her gloves, her fan and her Prayer-book—'you'll see! Many of those creatures will prefer the life they lead. They like it. A woman told me—one of the sort that knows—told me many of them like it so much that they are indifferent to the risk of being sent to prison. "It gives them a rest,"' she said.