'I know what it meant. Winnie knowed all about the Knockers of Snowdon, the dwarfs o' the copper mine, and this woman, bein' so thick and short, must look ezackly like a Knocker, I should say, if you could see one.'
I said to the girl, 'Was she really kind to—to—'
'To her you were asking about,—the Essex Street Beauty? I should think she just was. She's a drinker, is poor Meg, and drinking in Primrose Court means starvation. Meg and the Beauty were often short enough of grub, but, drunk or sober, Meg would never touch a mouthful till the Beauty had had her fill. I noticed it many a time—not a mouthful. When Meg was obliged to send her into the streets to sell things she was always afraid that the Beauty might come to harm through the toffs and the chaps. The toffs were the worst looking after her—as they mostly are—so I was always watching her in the day-time, and at night Meg was always watching her, and that was what made me know your face, as soon as ever I clapt eyes on it.'
'Why, what do you mean?'
'Well, one rainy night when I was standing by the theatre door, I heard a toff ask a policeman about the Essex Street Beauty, and I thought I knew what that meant very well. So I ran off to find Meg. I had seen her watching the Beauty all the time. But lo and behold! Meg was gone and the Beauty too. So I run across here, and found Meg and the Beauty getting their supper as quiet as possible. Meg had heard the toff talking to the policeman—though I didn't know she was standing so near—and whisked her off and away as quick as lightning.'
'That was I,' I said. 'God! God! If I had only known!'
'There's the same look now on your face as there was then, and I should know it among ten thousand.'
'Polly Onion,' I said, 'there is my address, and if ever you want a friend, and if you are in trouble, you will know where to find assistance,' and I gave her another sovereign.
'You're a good sort,' said she, 'and no mistake.'
'Good-bye,' I said, shaking her hand. 'See well after Mrs. Gudgeon.'