"Good? Who to?" he asked blankly.

"You've only to look about you. Don't you know of all the misery
there is in the world?"

"To tell you the truth, I've never thought very much about it."

"Then you ought to."

"You think so?"

"Most certainly."

"Then I'll have to."

They were now in Piccadilly. The pavement on which they walked was
crowded with women of all ages; some walked in pairs, others,
singly. Whatever their age and appearance, all these women had two
qualities in common--artificial complexions and bold, inviting eyes.
It was the nightly market of the women of the town. This mart has
much in common with any other market existing for the buying or
selling of staple commodities. Amongst this assembly of women of all
ages and conditions (many of whom were married), there were regular
frequenters, who had been there almost from time immemorial;
occasional dabblers; chance hucksterers: most were there compelled
by the supreme necessity of earning a living; others displayed their
wares in order to provide luxuries; whilst a few were present merely
for the fun of an infrequent bargain. As at other marts, there were
those who represented the interests of sellers, and extracted a
commission for their pains on all sales effected by their