"No; Third. Five and twopence."
"Here you are." The new-comer held out his hand to the collector with money in it.
"This gentleman offers to pay, miss," said the collector turning to Edith. "Am I to take the money?"
The girl swayed to and fro, and did not answer. It was plain she heard what had been said. Her movement was an acknowledgment she had heard. She did not answer because she did not know what to say. Two powerful emotions were conflicting in her. The feeling of weakness was passing away. She was trying to choose between gaol (for so the matter seemed to her) and deliverance at his hands.
"Of course, the lady will allow me to arrange this little matter for her. She can pay me back at any time. I will give her my name and address: Oscar Leigh, Forbes's bakery, Chetwynd Street."
"Am I to take the money, miss? We are losing time. The train is going to back out. Here's the Inspector. Am I to take the five and twopence from this gentleman?"
"Yes," she whispered. She loosed her hold upon the carriage door, but did not take down her hand from her face.
The collector wrote out and thrust a ticket into her disengaged hand. The touch of the hand recalled the dim memory of what had happened earlier that day. Her fingers closed firmly, instinctively, on the paper.
"Now, miss, it's all right. Please stand away. The train is backing out."
She dropped her hand from her face, moved a pace from the edge of the platform and looked round. She knew she should see him with her eyes, she had heard him with her ears. She shrank from the sight of him, she shrank still more from the acknowledgment she should have to make.