He was in trouble and she could not help him; that was the ache in her heart. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living.
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