"Some ladies who'll be kind to us, and know what we say, for they're English. I don't know their name," answered Gladys.
Walter saw there was but one thing to be done. He turned to the postman.
"I know who they are," he said rapidly in French, with the instinctive wish to save this little lady, small as she was, from being made the subject of a sensational paragraph in some penny paper. "I have seen them before. They had come to see my aunt, who is very kind to her country-people, and were crying because she was out. It will be all right. Don't let yourself be late. I'll look after them."
And relieved in his mind the postman trotted off.
Walter turned to Gladys again.
"I live at No. 9," he said. "Those ladies are my aunt and my sister. So the best thing you can do is to come in with me and get warm. And when my aunt comes home you shall tell us all your troubles, and we will see what to do."
"And you won't give us to the police?" asked Gladys, with a sudden misgiving. "We've not done anything naughty. Will the ladies come soon?"
For though on the first impulse she had flown to Walter with full confidence, she now somehow felt a little frightened of him. Perhaps his being on such good terms with the postman, whose uniform vaguely recalled a policeman to her excited imagination, or his speaking French so easily and quickly, had made her feel rather less sure of him. "You won't give us to the police?" she repeated.
Walter could hardly help smiling.