London you may wish to know. It's a very large city--a cruel
one!"--and he looked at her with compassionate kindness--"You
mustn't lose yourself in it!"

She read the name on the card--"John Harrington"--and the address
was the office of a famous daily journal. Looking up, she gave him
a grateful little smile.

"You are very kind!" she said--"And I will not forget you. I don't
think I shall lose myself--I'll try not to be so stupid! Yes--when
I have read one of your books I will write to you!"

"Do!"--and there was almost a note of eagerness in his voice--"I
should like to know what you think"--here a loud and persistent
scream from the engine-whistle drowned all possibility of speech
as the train rushed past a bewildering wilderness of houses packed
close together under bristling black chimneys--then, as the
deafening din ceased, he added, quietly, "Here is London."

She looked out of the window,--the sun was shining, but through a
dull brown mist, and nothing but bricks and mortar, building upon
building, met her view. After the sweet freshness of the country
she had left behind, the scene was appallingly hideous, and her
heart sank with a sense of fear and foreboding. Another few
minutes and the train stopped.

"This is Paddington," said John Harrington; then, noting her
troubled expression--"Let me get a taxi for you and tell the man
where to drive."