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“I guess you ain’t been doing just right, or else you wouldn’t be ashamed to tell,” she said, while a graver look came into her sober eyes.

The situation was so keenly delightful that I lacked the moral strength to do aught but prolong it.

“Ah, madam, if you but knew!” I said, and I fear that my tone conveyed to her a tacit confession of deep depravity.

We had reached the required number in La Salle Street. I led the way to the elevator, and found the door of the lawyer’s office. The woman stood for a few moments in the passage; I was evidently on her conscience.

“Haven’t you got any family or friends?” she continued, in a voice tender with sympathy.

“I had both,” I replied.

“Then, young man, you take my advice, and just go back to your family, and tell them you’re sorry that you done wrong, and you mean to do better. They’ll be good to you and help you.” Her words were swift with the energy of conviction.

“I am sure that you are right,” I agreed.

And now a well-filled open purse was in her hand, and I saw her fingers hesitating among some loose coins. Presently she held out a quarter.