"Name!" said Mr. Hoopdriver. "Why!--Benson, of course."

"Mr. Benson--yes it's really very stupid of me. But I can never remember

names. I must make a note on my cuff." She clicked a little silver

pencil and wrote the name down. "If I could write to my friend. I

believe she would be able to help me to an independent life. I could

write to her--or telegraph. Write, I think. I could scarcely explain in

a telegram. I know she would help me."

Clearly there was only one course open to a gentleman under the

circumstances. "In that case," said Mr. Hoopdriver, "if you don't mind

trusting yourself to a stranger, we might continue as we are perhaps.

For a day or so. Until you heard." (Suppose thirty shillings a day, that

gives four days, say four thirties is hun' and twenty, six quid,--well,

three days, say; four ten.)

"You are very good to me."

His expression was eloquent.

"Very well, then, and thank you. It's wonderful--it's more than I

deserve that you--" She dropped the theme abruptly. "What was our bill

at Chichester?"

"Eigh?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, feigning a certain stupidity. There was a

150

The Wheels of Chance