ion that could present, day in, day out, a steady
aspect to a society whose life was spent in such extremes of elation and
despair, of prosperity and wretchedness, and whose actual lodging was
liable to be changed at any moment for better or worse.

"Not a bad place, is it?" said Barnes, looking round in critical
approval at the prostitutes and bullies hoarded round the tables puddly
with the overflow of mineral waters and froth of beer.

"You really like it?" Michael asked.

"Oh, it's cheerful," said Barnes. "And that's something nowadays."

Michael perceived Daisy before they were halfway across the room. He
greeted her with particular friendliness as an individual among these
hard-eyed constellations.

"Hulloa!" she cried. "Wherever have you been all this time?"

"I called at Guilford Street, but you were gone."

"Oh, yes. I left there. I couldn't stand the woman there any longer. Sit
down. Who's your friend?"

Michael brought Barnes into the conversation, and suggested moving into
one of the alcoves where it was easier to talk.

"No, come on, sit down here. Fritz won't like it, if we move."

Michael looked round for the protector, and she laughed.

"You silly thing! Fritz is the waiter."

Michael presently grew accustomed to being jogged in the back by
everyone who passed, and so powerful was the personality of the Orange
that very soon he, like the rest of the crowd, was able to discuss
private affairs without paying any heed to the solitary smoking
listeners around.

"Where's Dolly?" he asked.

"Oh, I had to get rid of her very sharp," said Daisy. "She served me a
very nasty trick after I'd been so good to her. Besides, I've taken up
with a fellow. Bert Saunders. He does the boxing for Crime Illustrated."

"You told me I was like him," Michael reminded her.

"That's right. I remember now. I'm living down off Judd Street in a
flat. Why don't you come round and see me there?"

"I will," Michael promised.

"Wasn't Bert Saunders the fellow who was keeping Kitty Metcalfe?" asked
Barnes.

"That's right. Only he gave her the push after she hit Maudie Clive over
the head with a port-wine glass in the Half Moon upstairs."

"I knew Kitty," said Barnes, shaking his head to imply that acquaintance
with Kitty had involved a wider experience than fell to most men.
"What's happened to her?"

"Oh, Gard, don't ask me," said Daisy. "She's got in with a fellow who
kept a fried-fish place in the Caledonian R