A girl reeled from the public-house and stood on the edge of the pavement bawling a vile song.

A man lurched up against the side of the hansom; a coarse swollen face flaming with drink was pressed to the glass, close to her own.

As she shrank back in horror, turning her head away from the evil thing, her face sought Stanistreet, the soft fringe of her hair brushed against his cheek.

She had never been so near to him, never, in the abstraction of her terror, so far away.

To-night everything combined to make his own meaning clear to him, sharpened his fierce indignant longing to take her away, out of the hell where these things were possible, to protect her forever from the brutalities of life.
There was a stir; the crowd swayed forward and began to move.