'Yes, I know,' said Victoria softly, 'I used to be at the P. R. R.'
'You?' The young man looked at her incredulously.
'Yes, but never mind me. It's Betty I've come for. The baby is dead. I found her cleaning the steps of a house near Waterloo.'
'My God,' said the young man in low tones. He clenched his hands together; one of his paper cuff protectors fell to the floor.
'Will you marry her now?'
'Yes . . . at once.'
'Good. She's had a hard time, Mr Smith, and I don't say it's entirely your fault. Now it's all going to be put square. I'm going to see she has some money of her own, five hundred pounds. That will help won't it?'
'Oh, it's too good to be true. Why are you doing all this for us? You're. . . .'
'Please, please, no thanks. I'm Betty's friend. Let that be enough. Will you come and see her to-morrow at my house? Here's my card.'
On the last day of November these two were married at a registry office in the presence of Victoria and the registrar's clerk. A new joy had settled upon Betty, whose shy prettiness was turning into beauty. Victoria's heart was heavy as she looked at the couple, both so young and rapt, setting out upon the sea with a cargo of glowing dreams. It was heavy still as the cab drove off carrying them away for a brief week-end, which was all Anderson and Dromo would allow. She tasted a new delight in this making of happiness.