here's worse than
that, Sidney. She's been goin' about to the theatre an' such places
with a man as she got to know at the bar, an' Mrs. Tubbs says she
believes it's him has tempted her away.'

She spoke the last sentences in a low voice, painfully watching their
effect.

'And why hasn't Mrs. Tubbs spoken about this before?' Sidney asked,
also in a subdued voice, but without other show of agitation.

'That's just what, I said to her myself. The girl was in her charge,
an' it was her duty to let us know if things went wrong. But how am I
to tell her father? I dursn't do it, Sidney; for my life, I dursn't!
I'd go an' see her where she's lodging--see, I've got the address wrote
down here--but I should do more harm than good; she'd never pay any
heed to me at the best of times, an' it isn't likely she would now.'

'Look here if she's made no attempt to hide away, you may be quite sure
there's no truth in what Mrs. Tubbs says. They've quarrelled, and of
course the woman makes Clara as black as she can. Tell her father
everything as soon as he comes home; you've no choice.'

Mrs. Hewett averted her face in profound dejection. Sidney learnt at
length what her desire had been in coming to him; she hoped he would
see Clara and persuade her to return home.

'I dursn't tell her' father,' she kept repeating. 'But perhaps it isn't
true what Mrs. Tubbs says. Do go an' speak to her before it's too late.
Say we won't ask her to come 'ome, if only she'll let us know what
she's goin' to do.'

In the end he promised to perform this service, and to communicate the
result that evening. It was Saturday; at half-past one he left the
workroom, hastened home to prepare himself for the visit, and, without
thinking of dinner, set out to find the address Mrs. Hewett had given
him. His steps were directed to a dull street on the north of
Pentonville Road; the house at which he mad e inquiry was occupied by a
drum-manufacturer. Miss Hewett, he learnt, was not at home; she had
gone forth two hours ago, and nothing was known of her movements.
Sidney turned away and began to walk up and down the shadowed side of
the street; there was no breath of air stirring, and from the open
windows radiated stuffy odours. A quarter of an hour sufficed to
exasperate him with anxiety and physical malaise. He suffered from his
inability to do anything at once, from conflict with himself as to
whether or not it behoved him to speak with John Hewett; of Clara he