Any enforced occupation, no matter how agreeable, is rendered arduous by its necessity, and Georgiana despaired of finding enough to do in the interval that must necessarily pass to secure her safety. She reflected, with some envy, on Elizabeth’s ability to occupy herself in the observation of her fellow creatures, and imagine the crowd as a kind of pantomime, finding sufficient amusement in the actions of those around her as to make such periods of inactivity pleasant. This thought was immediately succeeded by her recollection of the Colonel’s own dislike of shopping, and Georgiana was, at that moment, much in similar antipathy. At length, she purchased a book, and sat down on a bench to read—at last!—an occupation for her mind that would help the time to pass quickly and not disagreeably. The book, however, did not answer, and she spent her time alternately turning the pages without seeing the words, and looking about. Glancing at her watch, she saw that the hour had come when she might take some tea; Fortnum’s was likely to be filled with the haut ton, and Georgiana had no wish to be seen.

Walking up Piccadilly, she was roused from her thoughts by the small, choaking sobs of a child. Looking about, she saw no-one leading a toddler or holding an infant. She was just past the gates of St. James, when she heard the sound again, and turning back against the crush of people walking up to Regent Street, looked down to see a very ragged, dirty little girl standing by a sack, crying miserably. In a moment, Georgiana had interposed herself squarely between the child and the crowds roughly pushing past her, and took her hands.

“Oh, dear. My name is Georgiana. What is your name, little one?” she asked softly. The girl stopt her sobs briefly enough to reply, “B-b-Betsey V-vale, ma’am,” and then resumed sobbing with all her heart.

Georgiana kept a firm hold of the little hands lest Betsey take fright and run into the crowd, and asked, “Whatever can be the matter, Betsey, for such unhappiness?” Georgiana managed to infer from what she could hear between Betsey’s gasps, that her father was going to drown the sack of kittens.

She had taken the sack whilst he was asleep, and was going to find some kind person to take them, as, if she returned with them, “Not-not on’y will P-p-papa drown the kit-kit’ns, bu-but he-he w-w-will b-be ang-ang’g-g-ry ‘n d-d-drown Tabby, t-t-oo,” and her broken sobs increased even more desperately, if that were possible.

“N’if h-he ff-f-ine’s ou-out, I-I-I w-wil’ g-g-g’t a wh-wh-whip-p-p-’n—” the sad relation of which sent her back into sobbing so hard, Georgiana feared for her very breath.