“They are indeed! And mine is a very special hostel’ “Do you own it?” Rollison asked.

No. I manage it fur a group of people who are greatly concerned for these particular young women.”

“I see,” said Rollison. “Is it a semi-luxury hostel?”

“In a way, yes.”

“Requiring certain qualifications,” remarked Rollison. He finished his drink, and gave a much warmer smile. “Would it be better for you to tell me more about the hostel, rather than have me ask a lot of questions?”

She considered, and then answered:

“If you will answer me one question satisfactorily, I will gladly answer all of yours.”

“That’s fair enough,” said Rollison, feeling more and more curious every moment. “I’ll try to be satisfactory!”

“Thank you. The question is, are you strongly prejudiced against young women whom you call ‘fallen angels’? Do you condemn them out of hand as being beyond the pale?”

Rollison began to like this woman very much. He settled further back in his chair, placed the tips of his fingers together and appeared to look over the rim of nonexistent glasses. He contrived, in those moments, to appear a little like the caricature of a pedantic parson.

“No,” he said. “I do not. On the other hand I don’t see the wisdom or expediency of encouraging them unduly.” After a fractional pause, he went on: “Is that satisfactory?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling again. “Yes. Ask me whatever you wish.”

“Very well,” said Rollison. “Will you stay for lunch?” She was obviously taken aback, almost confused.

“How very nice of you! I—” there was another fractional pause. “Yes, I would like that very much. Thank you.”

“I have a feeling we’re going to need a little time,” said Rollison. “Excuse me.” He pressed a bell-push in the wall by the fireplace where logs replaced the winter’s fires. “It won’t be anything fancy . . . Oh, Jolly, Mrs. Smith will be staying to lunch.”