"But is there nothing to be done for that poor girl?"

His new acquaintance shrugged his shoulders.

"A broken jug," said he; "--you'll never mend her. She's going to a
cousin in London to see if she can get help; you've given her the means
of getting there--it's all that you can do. One knows too well what'll
become of her."

Shelton said gravely,

"Oh! that's horrible! Could n't she be induced to go back home? I should
be glad--"

The foreign vagrant shook his head.

"Mon cher monsieur," he said, "you evidently have not yet had occasion
to know what the 'family' is like. 'The family' does not like damaged
goods; it will have nothing to say to sons whose hands have dipped into
the till or daughters no longer to be married. What the devil would
they do with her? Better put a stone about her neck and let her drown at
once. All the world is Christian, but Christian and good Samaritan are
not quite the same."

Shelton looked at the girl, who was sitting motionless, with her hands
crossed on her bag, and a revolt against the unfair ways of life arose
within him.

"Yes," said the young foreigner, as if reading all his thoughts, "what's
called virtue is nearly always only luck." He rolled his eyes as though