The furniture was not what one would expect to find in a garret. It was
good and solid but undusted and the upholstery was faded. The general
appearance was higgledy-piggledy--hand to mouth domesticity mixed up
with the work by which the young man earned, or tried to earn, his
living. No signs of a woman's neatness and touches of decoration could
be seen.
Lavinia's glances went to the owner of the garret. After all it was only
he who was of real interest. She noticed the difficulty he had in
lifting a big folio from the chair. He could hardly use his right arm.
She saw his hollow cheeks and the dark circles beneath his eyes. She
hadn't spent years in the streets amongst the poorest not to know that
his wistful look meant want of food--starvation may be.
"Won't you sit down?" he said.
She shook her head.
"This belongs to you," she said, holding out his purse. "I'm so sorry
it's empty."
"I'm sorry too. You haven't spent a farthing on yourself and I meant it
all for you."
"It was very foolish when you wanted money so badly."
"That doesn't matter. You wouldn't have been here now if I hadn't given
it you."
Her eyes lighted up. The same thought had crossed her mind.
"How did you know I lived here?" he went on.
"Well I--I opened the other end of the purse and read what was on the
papers inside. It was very wrong. You'll forgive me, won't you?"
"I'd forgive you anything.
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