Sparrows Part 42

He insisted on getting and helping her into her coat. As she put her arms into the sleeves, he murmured:

"Where did you get your hair?"

"Do try and talk sense," she pleaded, not insensible to the man's ardent admiration.

Then, with something like a sigh, she left the warmth and comfort of the restaurant for the bleakness of the street, on which a thick fog had descended.

This enveloped the man and the woman. As they stood on the pavement, it seemed to cut them off from the rest of the world.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE SEQUEL

"Will you let me drive you home?"

"No, thank you."

"Then you must let me walk with you."

"There's no necessity."

"I insist. London, at this time of night, isn't the place for a plain little girl like Mavis."

"Now you're talking sense."

"I wish I thought it," he remarked bitterly.

He paid the cabman and piloted Mavis through the fog to the other side of Regent Street; they then made for Piccadilly.

"Am I going right?" he asked.

"At present," she replied, to ask, after a moment or two, "Why are you so extravagant?"

"I'm not."

"That supper and keeping that cab waiting! It must have run into pounds."

"Eh! What if it did?"

"It's wicked. Just think of the good you could have done with it."

"Good? Who to?" he asked blankly.

"You've only to look about you. Don't you know of all the misery there is in the world?"

"To tell you the truth, I've never thought very much about it."

"Then you ought to."

"You think so?"

"Most certainly."

"Then I'll have to."

They were now in Piccadilly. The pavement on which they walked was crowded with women of all ages; some walked in pairs, others, singly.

Whatever their age and appearance, all these women had two qualities in common--artificial complexions and bold, inviting eyes. It was the nightly market of the women of the town. This mart has much in common with any other market existing for the buying or selling of staple commodities. Amongst this a.s.sembly of women of all ages and conditions (many of whom were married), there were regular frequenters, who had been there almost from time immemorial; occasional dabblers; chance hucksterers: most were there compelled by the supreme necessity of earning a living; others displayed their wares in order to provide luxuries; whilst a few were present merely for the fun of an infrequent bargain. As at other marts, there were those who represented the interests of sellers, and extracted a commission for their pains on all sales effected by their princ.i.p.als. Also, most of the chaffering was negotiated over drink, to obtain which adjournment was made to the handiest bar.

This exchange was as subject to economic laws as ruthlessly as are all other markets. There were fat times, when money was plentiful; lean nights, when buyers were scarce or sellers suffered from over-supply.

To complete the resemblance, this mart was sensibly affected by world events, political happenings, the robustness or weakness of other markets of industry.

Men of all ages swarmed on the pavement; some were buyers, others were attracted by the fun of the fair. The family parties which were occasionally to be met with, as they scurried home to remote suburbs, seemed sadly out of place in this seething collection of vicious men and women.

An over-dressed black woman was there, as if to prove, if proof were needed, the universality of sin.

As the procession of painted faces loomed out of the fog, it seemed to Mavis as if they were lost souls in the spume of the pit.

She drew closer to the man at her side. London, life itself, seemed to the girl's jangled nerves to be a concentrated horror, from which, so it now appeared, the man beside her was her only safeguard. He had certainly insulted her, she reflected; but his conduct was, perhaps, excusable under the circ.u.mstances in which he had found her. Directly he had learned his mistake, he had rescued her from further contact with infamy, and had been gentle with her. In return, she had been scarcely civil to him, and had told him a lie when he had asked her if she were his old playmate.

As she walked with him, she bitterly reproached herself for her falsehood; she also tried to hide from herself that her rudeness had been largely a.s.sumed in order to conceal her growing regard for him. It would seem another world when he was not at her side to protect her from possible harm.

As they pa.s.sed Burlington House, a beggar whined his tale of woe in their ears. Mavis saw Windebank give the man something, the handsomeness of which made the recipient open his eyes. A flower-seller, who had witnessed the generous act, immediately pestered Windebank to buy of her wares, an example at once followed by others of her calling. He gave them all money, at which some of them forced their wired flowers upon him, whilst others overwhelmed him with thanks.

"Don't thank me," he protested, as he glanced towards Mavis, who was the recipient of countless blessings, mechanically uttered.

Beggars and loafers, with their keen scent for prey, were about him in less time than it takes to tell. He gave largely, generously; he was soon the centre of a struggling, unsavoury crowd, which was growing larger every minute.

"Whatever are you doing?" protested Mavis.

"Wasn't it your wish?" he asked.

"Not this. Please, please get me out and away."

The next moment, Windebank, dragging Mavis after him, was vigorously making a pa.s.sage through those who surrounded them. Once he saw his way clear, he ran forward, still keeping hold of her, and dragged her up Bond Street. They were still followed by the more persistent of the loafers, but a friendly policeman came to their aid, enabling them to pursue their unmolested way down Piccadilly.

"It is good of you to let me stay with you all this time," he said presently.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"I'll see. Why, I've lost my watch!"

"Not really?"

"I suppose it was stolen just now."