She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. Professing to stand between the robber and the robbed, he himself plundered both. Mounting the door he had last opened, he placed his hands on the wall above, and quickly drew himself up. Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. “I think we have,” he answered, gravely, and took her in his arms, and smoothed her hair from her forehead, and very tenderly kissed her lips. “I think,” she said, “that I would rather not have anything to say about that man. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask.
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