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Ford, a trifle appalled at the result of his warmly-expressed sympathy, stood gazing at her heaving shoulders, and listening to the queerly touching little noises she was making.

“I’m very sorry,” she managed to gasp out at last. “I didn’t mean to cry—I don’t know why I’m making such a fool of myself. I’d have been all right if you hadn’t spoken so...so kindly. And now I...I can’t stop.”

“Well, don’t,” said Ford. “Have it out. Forget I’m here.”

She still stood at the window with her back turned to him, sobbing, but struggling for self-control.

“Do you know,” he went on, “I often think that nature’s been kinder to women than to men in this respect. There have been many moments in my life when I’ve wished that tears would come to me. They’re an outlet, and a relief. You cry on as long as you like. No one will come into this room, and you’re not disturbing me. I shan’t take any more notice of you than if you were the office boy asking for a day off to go to his grandmother’s funeral.”

And so Ann cried on for a few moments—her eyes getting redder and her pretty face more swollen. But gradually the sobbing ceased.

“What about a cup of tea? I could get one in half a minute—or a whisky and soda?”

Ann shook her head, smiling—a little, pathetic twisted smile—as she turned towards him.

“I’m all right now. Quite all right—really I am. You see, I’ve just started a little hat shop here, and all this...this talk may ruin my business. And if I lose my capital, I can’t get a job again as governess—no one would have me after...after this.”