The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. Jolly hard life for a girl, getting a living. “I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. She gurgled. " Prudence felt the hands stiffen oddly; and again the thought came to her that perhaps this poor child's father had once been, perhaps still was, in the same category as this Taber. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre.
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