they had gone to and was told that they either joined the men
packers or went to the public-house round the corner.

The girls who brought sandwiches and stayed behind liked my visits
and gradually became my friends. One of them--Phoebe Whitman by
name--was beautiful and had more charm than the others for me; I
asked her one day if she would take me with her to the public-
house where she always lunched, as I had brought my food with me
in a bag and did not suppose the public-house people would mind my
eating it there with a glass of beer. This request of mine
distressed the girls who were my friends. They thought it a
terrible idea that I should go among drunkards, but I told them I
had brought a book with me which they could look at and read out
loud to each other while I was away--at which they nodded gravely
--and I went off with my beautiful cockney.

The "Peggy Bedford" was in the lowest quarter of Whitechapel and
crowded daily with sullen and sad-looking people. It was hot,
smelly and draughty. When we went in I observed that Phoebe was a
favourite; she waved her hand gaily here and there and ordered
herself a glass of bitter. The men who had been hanging about
outside and in different corners of the room joined up to the
counter on her arrival and I heard a lot of chaff going on while
she tossed her pretty head and picked at potted shrimps. The room
was too crowded for any one to notice me; and I sat quietly in a
corner eating my sandwiches and smoking my cigarette. The frosted-
glass double doors swung to and fro and the shrill voices of
children asking for drinks and carrying them away in their mugs
made me feel profoundly unhappy. I followed one little girl
through the doors out into the street and saw her give the mug to