A very high standard of generosity obtains among them, and much devotion, even heroism. A Scotswoman whom I met in a North London lodging house told me that “her man” had lost both his legs in the war. He had come down from his native place to London where he had secured admission to an institution. They had hoped to get married, and when he was maimed from the war she was heartbroken. She could not live without him and followed him to London without a penny and without work. She took the way of prostitution to keep body and soul together. He did not know what she did, and every visiting day would welcome her with unfailing affection. He was a heavy smoker and she could never get him enough tobacco. She would go without food to buy him cigarettes; indeed, she only lived for those few hours twice weekly when she forgot everything but her love. She was not a showy-looking girl; she was built on peasant lines, and one felt she would make a splendid mother of sturdy sons. Her avocation had not dulled her mind or coarsened her manner. I do not think her soul, in any sense, was seared by what she did.

“What else can I do?” she asked me, her wide eyes staring.