The young man shut off his motor, so that there was a sudden silence. "Want a lift somewhere?" he asked cheerfully.
Lila could not remember when she had been too young to be warned against the advances of strange men. "They give you a high old time, and then they expect to be paid for it," had been so dinned into her that if she had given the young man a sharp "No" for an answer it would have been almost instinctive. Training and admonition rose strong within her. She felt that she was going to refuse help. The thought was intolerable. Wherefore, instead of answering, she burst into tears.
A moment later the young man was sitting by her side, and she was pouring her tale of a day gone wrong into amused but sympathetic ears.
His voice and choice of words belonged to a world into which she had never looked. She could not help trusting him and believing that he was good—even when he put his arm around her and let her finish her cry on his shoulder.
"And your friend left you—and you've got no car fare, and you've had nothing to eat, and you can't walk any more because your shoes are too tight. And you live——?"
She told him.
"I could take you right home to your mother," he said, "but I won't. That would be a good ending to a day gone wrong, but not the best. Come."
He supported her to his motor, a high-power runabout, and helped her in. Never before had she sat in such reclining comfort. It was better than sitting up in bed.
"We'll send your mother a telegram from New Rochelle so that she won't worry," he said. "Just you let yourself go and try to enjoy everything. Fortunately I know of a shoe store in New Rochelle. It won't be open; but the proprietor has rooms above the store, and he'll be glad to make a sale even if it is Sunday. The first principle to be observed in a pleasant outing is a pair of comfortable feet."
"But I have no money," protested Lila.