Years before a great friend of hers had married an English clergyman;
had written often to her from London of the numerous activities in
which she was engaged--principal among them a kind of agency and home
for gentlewomen. "Governesses, dear, and all that kind of thing ...
poor girls, many of them, who have suddenly had to earn a living."

The correspondence had died, as do so many, from the effects of undue
urgency at the outset; but she had the address, and was certain there
of welcome and of aid. "Poor girls who have suddenly had to earn a
living." The words took on a new meaning: she was of these.

From Euston she drove to the address. Her friend had gone. Yes, the
present occupant remembered the name. The present occupant had been
there two years; had taken over the lease from the former tenant
because the lady was ill and had been ordered abroad. That was all the
present occupant knew; saw her to the door; closed it behind her.

Alone in London. "Alone in London"--it had been one of Dad's jokes; he
had written a burlesque on it, and they had played it one Christmas to
roars of fun. O God! what a thing at which to laugh now that the
realisation struck and one stood on the pavement in the dark with this
great city roaring at one!

Cabmen, she had heard, were brutes; but the man who had brought her to
the house must be appealed to.... Where could she get the cheapest
lodging of some kind?

How did he know? What was she wanting to pay? ...