“See the bedroom, my dear, before you settle.”

This proved to be even less inviting than the sitting-room:  hardly any of the furniture was perfect; a dirty piece of stuff was pinned across the window; dust lay heavy on toilet glass and mantel.  Happily contrasted with this squalor was the big bed, which was invitingly comfortable and clean.

Mavis was very tired; she looked longingly at the bed, with its luxurious, lace-fringed pillows.  The landlady marked her indecision.

“It’s very cheap, miss.”

“What do you call cheap?”

“Two guineas a week; light an’ coals extry.”

“Two guineas a week!”

“You’ve perfec’ liberty to bring in who you like.”

Mavis stared at her in astonishment.

“An’ no questions asked, my dear.”

Mavis wondered if the woman were in her right senses.

“I thought you’d jump at it,” she went on.  “I could see it when you saw the bed.  The gentlemen like a nice clean bed.”

Mavis understood; clutching her bag, she walked to the door.

“Not goin’ to ’ave ’em?” screeched the landlady.

Mavis hurried on.

“Guinea a week and what extries you like.  There!”

Mavis ran down the stairs.

“Won’t they give you more than five shillings?” shouted the woman over the banisters as Mavis reached the door.

“I s’pose your beat is the Park,” the woman shrieked, as Mavis ran down the steps.

Mavis ran a few yards, to stop short.  She trembled from head to foot; tears scalded her eyes, which, with a great effort, she kept back.  She was crushed with humiliation and shame.  At once she thought of the loved one, and how deeply he would resent the horrible insult to which his tenderly loved little Mavis had been subjected.  But there was no time for vain imaginings.  With the landlady’s foul insinuations ringing in her ears, she set about looking for a house where she might get what she wanted.  The rain, that had been threatening all day, began to fall, but her umbrella was at Paddington.  She was not very far from the Tottenham Court Road.  Fearful of catching cold in her present condition, she hurried to this thoroughfare, where she thought she might get shelter.  When she got there, she found that places of vantage were already occupied to their utmost capacity by umbrellaless folk like herself.  She hurried along till she came to what, from the pseudoclassic appearance of the structure, seemed a place of dissenting worship.  She ran up the steps to the lobby, where she found the shelter she required.  A door leading to the chapel was open, which enabled her to overhear the conclusion of the sermon.  As the preacher’s words fell on her ears, she listened intently, and edged nearer to the door communicating with the chapel.  His message seemed meant expressly for her.  It told her that, despite anything anyone might presume to urge to the contrary, God was ever the loving Father of His children; that He rejoiced when they rejoiced, suffered when they sorrowed; however much the faint-hearted might be led to believe that the world was ruled by remorseless law, that much faith and a little patience would enable even the veriest sinner to see how the seemingly cruellest inflictions of Providence were for the sufferer’s ultimate good, and, therefore, happiness.