"Look here," he said bluntly. "I know a lady when I meet one. What were you doing in that place at all? You are English, too."
"Yes. I can't blame you for wondering. I'll tell you. I come from London. My father was a small schoolmaster in Sydenham. He—he was unfortunate, and died three years ago, and I was left alone in the world, with hardly two sixpences to rub together. Just as things were looking none too promising for me, I met and married"—she flushed proudly—"one of the best men that ever stepped—Dennis Maclear. He is an electrical engineer. We came out here together to make our fortunes, and settled in New York. We were beginning to do fairly well after a long struggle, when one day Dennis crushed his left arm and leg in a cog-wheel arrangement of some kind, and for three months he has not been able even to get out of bed without help. Bad luck, wasn't it? He is getting better slowly, and some day, the doctor says, he will be able to get about again. But—well, savings don't last for ever, you know; so I—"
"I see," said Hughie; "the upkeep of the establishment has devolved on you in the meanwhile?"
"Yes. Piano-playing is about the only accomplishment I possess. A girl friend of mine told me she was giving up her billet at old Bercotti's, and asked if I would like it. She wouldn't recommend it to most girls, she said, but perhaps it would suit me all right, being married. I took it; but as you saw, my being married wasn't sufficient protection after all."
She shuddered, for she was very young, and badly shaken; but presently she smiled bravely.
"What did you get?" asked Hughie.
"Dollar a night."
"It's not much."
"It's better than starvation," said practical little Mrs. Maclear.
"And what are you going to do next?"