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said. “It is very pretty.”
    “Yes,” he said.
    She lost interest immediately and sank back into the corner of the seat with a small sigh. “Do you think the handsome man in the carriage will try to find me? He will no doubt be very angry when he discovers that I am gone. He knows the corner where I conduct my business.”
    “I promise you that you will never see him again,” Virginia said. She touched the girl’s hand. “You are safe.”

THREE
     
    T hey delivered Becky into the warmth and welcome of the Elm Street charity house’s matron, Mrs. Mallory. Becky seemed bewildered, but the prospect of a hot meal and a safe bed persuaded her to tolerate the situation, at least for the night.
    “Whether or not she accepts the offer of going off to the charityhouse school for girls, where she can learn a respectable trade, like typewriting or telegraphy, will be up to her,” Virginia said when she got back into the carriage. “But Mrs. Mallory is very skilled at encouraging the girls to enter the school.”
    Owen sat down on the opposite seat.
    “You are a strong believer in education for the girls of the streets?” he said.
    The carriage rolled forward.
    “It is the only hope for a woman alone in the world,” Virginia said.
    “You speak from experience?”
    “I was orphaned at the age of thirteen. If my father had not left me a small inheritance that ensured that my boarding school fees were paid until I was seventeen, I would very likely have wound up on the streets like young Becky.”
    “No,” Owen said. “Not you. With your talent and intelligence you would have found another way to survive.”
    She looked out into the darkness. “Who knows? It does seem rather ironic that I am pursuing a career that requires me to work at night.”
    “Will there be anyone who will have been concerned about you tonight?” he asked. “Aside from your housekeeper, I mean.”
    “No. Actually, I’m surprised Mrs. Crofton was worried. She is new and still learning my unusual routine. I am often out late in the evenings, although rarely this late.”
    From the way Virginia spoke he knew that she was not accustomed to the notion of anyone worrying about her or fretting because she was late returning home.
    “Why do you work at night?” he asked.
    “The energy in the mirrors is usually stronger and more easily read at night. I can work in a heavily draped room if necessary, but I prefer to do my analysis in the evenings. I see things more clearly then.”
    “I hadn’t realized that.” Intrigued, he considered the matter briefly. “My talent is sharper and more focused at night as well. I wonder if it has something to do with the absence of the energy produced by sunlight. Perhaps those sorts of currents interfere with certain paranormal wavelengths.”
    She looked at him. “I am aware that you and your associates within Arcane hold a low opinion of those of us who make our livings with our talents. I know that you consider the vast majority of us to be charlatans. I also realize that the fact that I have frequent evening appointments does nothing to improve my reputation in your eyes or those of the Society’s. I would like to make it clear that I do not give a fig what you or the arrogant members of Arcane think of me and my colleagues at the Leybrook Institute.”
    “You have already made your opinion of me and the Society quite clear, Miss Dean. Perhaps I should mention that I am not a member of Arcane.”
    “Why were you in that group of so-called researchers who wanted to test my talent at the Pomeroy reading?”
    “It’s a long story. You are exhausted. You need rest and time to recover from your ordeal tonight. I promise to tell you everything in the morning.”
    She ignored that. “You risked your own neck to come looking for me tonight. Why?”
    “I told you, I have been keeping an eye on you. I think you may be in danger, although I admit I had not anticipated the situation in which I found you