This handsome young woman, richly dressed, who dared not go home, who had jewels but no money--there was some mystery surrounding her, and he determined to find out what it was.

And then, besides, for all that he was worldly, he was young and still believed in his Keats.
"If, as you say, there is no one at your home, why do you fear to go there ?" he asked, with some remnant of caution.
"It is the horror of the place," shuddering; "the horror!" And indeed, at that moment, her face expressed horror.
"Is it some one dead ?" lowering his voice.
"Dead ?" with a flash of cold anger in her eyes.

"Yes--to me, to truth, to honor; dead to everything that should make life worth the living.
Oh, it is impossible to say more in this place, to tell you here what has happened this day to rob me of all my tender illusions.

This morning I awoke happy, my heart was light; now, nothing but shame and misery!" She hid her eyes for a space behind the back of her hand.
"I will take you home," he said simply.
"You trust me ?" "Why not?
I am a man, and can take care of myself." "Thank you!" What a voice! It possessed a marvelous quality, low and penetrating, like the voices of great singers and actresses.

Any woman with such a voice ...
Here the waiter returned to announce that a cab awaited them in the street below.