I shall never forget the look in his eyes when I said this.

“None of that, my gal,” said he. “None of your looking at the river like that, you know.”

I did not realise what he meant, and leaned over the parapet, watching the lights and rather amused.

“Look here, my gal,” said he. “It ain’t a bit of good trying to throw yourself in, ’cause I shan’t let you. Things aren’t as bad with you as that, eh?”

There was a warm urgency in his voice, a real solicitude, utterly devoid of any artificiality. I was a woman in distress and the innate strength of the male was stirred in response to my need. He wasn’t going to let me hurt myself if he could help it.

“Oh, I’m not like that,” said I. “I shouldn’t throw myself in the river just because I was hard up.”