"Come with me, dear," said the woman, taking her kindly by the arm.
"This is my car. Come and let me help you."
They boarded the car, and after a long ride, entered a finely furnished house in a part of the city far from Amy's boarding place. The woman took Amy to her own apartments, and after giving her a clean bath and a warm supper, sat with her before the fire, while the girl poured out her story to the only sympathetic listener she had met.
When she had finished, the woman said, "You have not told me your name."
"You may call me Amy. I have no other name."
Again the woman spoke slowly: "You cannot find work. No one will receive you. But why should you care? You are beautiful."
Amy looked at her in wonder, and the woman explained how she had many girls in her home, who with fine dresses and jewels, lived a life of ease and luxury.
At last the girl understood and with a shudder, rose to her feet.
"Madam, I thank you for your kindness; for you have been kind; but
I cannot stop here." She started toward the door, but the woman stopped
her.
"My dear child; you cannot go out at this time of night again, and you could never find your way back to your lodging place. Stay here. You need not leave this room, and you may bolt the door on this side. Tomorrow you may go if you will."
Amy could do nothing but stay. As she laid her tired head on the clean pillow that night, and nestling in the warm blankets watched the firelight as the flames leaped and played, she heard the sound of music and merry voices, and thought of the cold, poorly-furnished bed-room, with coarse sheets and soiled pillows, at her lodging place, and of the weary tramp about the streets, and the unkind faces that refused her a chance for life. What would the end be when her money was gone, she wondered; and after all, why not this?
The next morning, when she awoke, she could not for a moment, remember where she was; then it all came back, just as a knock sounded on the door.