establishment had made her loathe the low life in which her early years
had been passed.

"They can't eat me," she thought. "Besides, the poor fellow is
starving."

The place was fairly quiet. One or two men of a group drinking and
gossipping winked at each other when they caught sight of her pretty
face, but they said nothing and she got what she asked for, a cold
chicken, bread and a bottle of wine.

Lavinia hastened to Grub Street. She ran up the dirty narrow ricketty
stairs, her heart palpitating with excitement, and she knocked at the
garret door. It was opened immediately, Lancelot Vane stood in the
doorway, his fine eyes beaming. He looked very handsome, Lavinia
thought, and she blushed under his ardent gaze.

He had washed, he had shaved, he had put on his best suit and his wig
concealed the cut on his forehead. He was altogether a different
Lancelot from the bedraggled, woe-begone, haggard young man whom she had
found in the last stage of misery two hours ago. He had moreover,
enlisted the help of the old woman whom Lavinia had met on the stairs at
her first visit and the place was swept and tidied. The room as well as
its occupant was now quite presentable.

"I've brought you something to eat," stammered Lavinia quite shyly to
her own surprise. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Not if you'll do me the honour to share it with me."