d he was a fussy old thing. She told him long stories
of the manageresses she interviewed, for her idea was to get work at some
eating-house; what they said and what she answered. Nothing definite was
fixed, but she was sure to settle something at the beginning of the
following week: there was no use hurrying, and it would be a mistake to
take something unsuitable.

"It's absurd to talk like that," he said impatiently. "You must take
anything you can get. I can't help you, and your money won't last for
ever."

"Oh, well, I've not come to the end of it yet and chance it."

He looked at her sharply. It was three weeks since his first visit, and
she had then less than seven pounds. Suspicion seized him. He remembered
some of the things she had said. He put two and two together. He wondered
whether she had made any attempt to find work. Perhaps she had been lying
to him all the time. It was very strange that her money should have lasted
so long.

"What is your rent here?"

"Oh, the landlady's very nice, different from what some of them are; she's
quite willing to wait till it's convenient for me to pay."

He was silent. What he suspected was so horrible that he hesitated. It was
no use to ask her, she would deny everything; if he wanted to know he must
find out for himself. He was in the habit of leaving her every evening at
eight, and when the clock struck he got up; but instead of going back to
Harrington Street he stationed himself at the corner of Fitzroy Square so
that he could see anyone who came along William Street. It seemed to him
that he waited an interminable time, and he was on the point of going
away, thinking his surmise had been mistaken, when the door of No. 7
opened and Mildred came out. He fell back into the darkness and watched
her walk towards him. She had on the hat with a quantity of feathers on it
which he had seen in her room, and she wore a dress he recognized, too
showy for the street and unsuitable to the time of year. He followed her
slowly till she came into the Tottenham Court Road, where she slackened
her pace; at the corner of Oxford Street she stopped, looked round, and
crossed over to a music-hall. He went up to her and touched her on the
arm. He saw that she had rouged her cheeks and painted her lips.

"Where are you going, Mildred?"

She started at the sound of his voice and reddened as she always did when
she was caught in a lie; then the flash of anger which he knew so well
ca