"Yes; sooner perhaps than--" Barbara spoke absently, as if a new idea was taking possession of her mind--"sooner perhaps than you think."

"And you say she's breaking her heart?"

"A little more, and it will be broken."

By the time Letty had been set down at the door in East Sixty-seventh Street the afternoon had grown chilly. In the back drawing-room Steptoe was on his knees lighting the fire. Letty came and stood behind him. Without preliminary of any kind she said, quietly:

"Steptoe, it's got to end."

Expecting a protest she was surprised that he should merely blow on the shivering flame, saying, in the interval between two long breaths: "I agrees with madam."

"And it's me that must end it."

He blew gently again. "I guess that'd be so too."

She thought of the little mermaid leaping into the sea, and trembling away into foam. "If he wants to marry the girl he's in love with he'll never do it the way we're living now."

He rose from his knees, dusting one hand against the other. "Madam's quite right. 'E won't--not never."

She threw out her arms, and moaned. "And, O Steptoe! I'm so tired of it."

"Madam's tired of----?"

"Of living here, and doing nothing, and just watching and waiting, and nothing never happening----"

"Does madam remember that, the dye when she first come I said there was two reasons why I wanted to myke 'er into a lydy?"

Letty nodded.

"The one I told 'er was that I wanted to 'elp someone who was like what I used to be myself."

"I remember."

"And the other, what I didn't tell madam, I'll tell 'er now. It was--it was I was 'opin' that a woman'd come into my poor boy's life as'd comfort 'im like----"

"And she didn't come."

"'E ain't seen that she's come. I said it'd be a tough job to bring 'im to fallin' in love with 'er like; but it's been tougher than what I thought it'd be."

"So that I must--must do something."

"Looks as if madam'd 'ave to."

"I suppose you know that there's an easy way for me to do it?"

"Nothink ain't so very easy; but if madam 'as a big enough reason----"

She felt the necessity of being plain. "I suppose that if he hadn't picked me up in the Park that day I'd have gone to the bad anyhow."

"If madam's thinkin' about goin' to the bad----"

She threw up her head defiantly. "Well, I am. What of it?"

"I was just thinkin' as I might 'elp 'er a bit about that."

She was puzzled. "I don't think you know what I said. I said I was----"

"Goin' to the bad, madam. That's what I understood. But madam won't find it so easy, not 'avin 'ad no experience like, as you might sye."

"I didn't know you needed experience--for that."

"All good people thinks that wye, madam; but when you tackle it deliberate like, there's quite a trick to it."

"And do you know the trick?" was all she could think of saying.

"I may not know the very hidentical trick madam'd be in want of--'er bein' a lydy, as you might sye--but I could put 'er in the wye of findin' out."

"You don't think I could find out for myself?"

"You see, it's like this. I used to know a young man what everythink went ag'in' 'im. And one dye 'e started out for to be a forgerer like--so as 'e'd be put in jyle--and be took care of--board and lodgin' free--and all that. Well, out 'e starts, and not knowin' the little ins and outs, as you might sye, everythink went agin 'im, just as it done before. And, would madam believe it? that young man 'e hended by studying for the ministry. Madam wouldn't want to myke a mistyke like that, now would she?"

Letty turned this over in her mind. A career parallel to that of this young man would effect none of the results she was aiming at.

"Then what would you suggest?" she asked, at last.

"I could give madam the address of a lydy--an awful wicked lydy, she is--what'd put madam up to all the ropes. If madam was to go out into the cold world, like, this lydy'd give 'er a home. Besides the address I'd give madam a sign like--so as the lydy'd know it was somethink special."

"A sign? I don't know what you mean."

"It'd be this, madam." He drew from his pocket a small silver thimble.

"This'd be a pa.s.sword to the lydy. The minute she'd see it she'd know that the time 'ad come."

"What time?"

"That's somethink madam'd find out. I couldn't explyne it before'and."

"It sounds very queer."

"It'd _be_ very queer. Goin' to the bad is always queer. Madam wouldn't look for it to be like 'avin' a gentleman lead 'er in to dinner."

"What's she like--the lady?"

"That's somethink madam'd 'ave to wyte and see. She wouldn't _seem_ so wicked, not at first sight, as you might sye. But time'd tell. If madam'd be pytient--well, I wouldn't like to sye." He eyed the fire.

"I think that fire'll burn now, madam; and if it don't, madam'll only 'ave to ring."

He was at the door when Letty, feeling the end of all things to be at hand, ran after him, laying her fingers on his sleeve.

"Oh, Steptoe; you've been so good to me!"