That autumn David and William went to Newhaven to see the Rye Football Club play the West Sussex United. They had more than once gone on such jaunts together, and on this occasion, trains being difficult, they put up for the night at a small hotel near the port. It was the first time they had spent a night away from Odiam, and a certain thrill attached to it.

When the match was over they went for a stroll on the parade. There was not much daylight left, but the evening was warm, and the parade was crowded with saunterers. The young men were glad to think that there was no homeward train to be caught, or account of the day\'s doings to be given to their father. He always asked minutely how they spent their time, and it annoyed them a little.

To-night they would walk and sit on the parade till supper time, then go to some coffee-house, and wind up at a music-hall. It was a gay programme and they discussed it happily, glanced at the passers-by, inspected the empty bandstand, and finally sat down on one of the seats to watch the fishing-boats trim their lamps in the amethyst fog of the sea. For some time they talked about the terrible licking the United had given Rye, arguing about this or that player, and speculating as to what would be the Club\'s fate at Hythe next week.

It was David who drew William\'s attention to the woman sitting at the other end of their seat. David piqued himself on his knowledge of the world.

"She\'s a—you know," he said.

William peeped round his brother\'s shoulder.

"How can you tell?"

"Why, you kid, it\'s as plain as the nose on your face—look at her paint."

Bill looked, his eyes opening wider than ever. She[Pg 401] certainly was a disreputable female, or there was no judging by appearances. She wore a big frowsy hat trimmed with roses and ears of corn, under which her thick black hair was held up by several tawdry pins; her face was more lavishly than artistically adorned with rouge and blanc de perle, and she pulled a cape of lavender velvet closely round her shoulders as if she were cold—which might well have been, for, as far as they could see, her bodice consisted almost entirely of lace.

"It\'s early for her to be prowling," said the man of the world. "I reckon she\'s having just a breath of fresh air before she starts work."

"Where\'ll she go then?" asked Billy.

"Oh, to the more crowded streets, round about the pubs and that."

"I wonder how much she m?akes at it."

"Not much, I reckon. She\'s a very low-class sort, and not at all young."

"T?ake care—she might hear you."

"Oh, don\'t you worry," said the lady blandly; "I like listening to you, and I was only waiting till you\'d stopped before I introduced myself."

Bill gasped, and David forgot that he was a man of the world, and sidled against his brother.

"Don\'t you know me?" continued the siren, tilting her hat back from her face.

"No-o-o."

"Ever heard of your sister Caro?"

Both boys started, and stared at her in utter blankness.

"Well, it wasn\'t to be expected as you\'d recognise me. You were only little boys, and I\'ve changed a bit. Maybe I shouldn\'t have spoken to you—got no decent feelings, some people would say; but I justabout couldn\'t help it. I heard you call each other David and Bill, and talk about Odiam and that, so I\'d have known[Pg 402] you even if you hadn\'t been the dead spit of your father."

The boys still didn\'t seem to have much to say, so she continued:

"I heard of your brother Pete the other day—never knew he\'d left home till I saw his name down to preach at Piddinghoe Mission Hall last month. He\'s called Salvation Pete now, as I daresay you know, and I half thought of going to hear him, only times are so bad I couldn\'t afford an evening off. When did he leave Odiam?—I should like some news of home."

"He quitted years ago, when we were little chaps. Salvation got him."

"I reckon that must have come hard on f?ather—he always was unaccountable set on Pete. Heard anything of Tilly lately?"

"No, nothing particular. But f?ather\'s going to buy the Grandturzel inclosure."

"And Rose?"

"Who\'s Rose?"

"Your mother, my precious innocents. But look here, you shall ask me to supper—it\'ll only be doing the decent thing by me—and you shall tell me about them all at Odiam—as used to be at Odiam, rather, for I reckon there\'s nobody but yourselves there now."<............