"I will remember," she said solemnly, and when I looked I saw that tears stood in her eyes. She brushed them hastily away, and after an interlude which it hardly becomes me to mention here, we went down the stairs again and out into the street, almost in silence.
Having called a cab, I placed her in it and almost nervously asked the question that had been some time upon my mind:
"When shall I see you again?"
"I cannot tell. Perhaps next week. But I'll let you know. In the meantime don't despair, all will come right yet! Good-bye."
"Good-bye and God bless you!"
I lifted my hat, she waved her hand, and next moment the hansom disappeared round the corner.
I wandered slowly down the pavement towards Oxford Street, then, turning to my left hand, made my way citywards. My mind was full of my interview with the sweet girl who had just left me, and almost unconsciously, wrapped in my own thoughts, I wandered on and on, until I found myself in a quarter of London into which I had never hitherto penetrated. The streets were narrow, and, as if to be in keeping with the general air of gloom, the shops were small and of a sordid nature; hand-carts, barrows, and stalls lined the grimy pavements, and the noise was deafening.
A clock in a belfry near by struck "One," and as I was beginning to feel hungry, and knew myself to be a long way from my hotel, I cast about me for a lunching-place. But it was some time before I encountered the class of restaurant I wanted. It was situated at the corner of two streets, carried a foreign name over the door, and, though considerably the worse for wear, had a
