urther self-effacement where her
lover was concerned urgently moved her to stand no trifling in respect
of others. Consequently, when about half-past ten Mrs Gowler opened the
door, accompanied by her idiot son, Oscar, who looked more imbecile
than ever in elaborate clothes, she was not a little surprised to be
greeted by Mavis with the words:

"What does this mean?"

"What does what mean?" replied Mrs Gowler, bridling.

"Keeping me waiting like this."

"Wot do you expect for wot you're payin'--brass banns and banners?"

"I don't expect impertinence from you!" cried Mavis.

"Imperence! imperence! And oo's Mrs Kenrick to give 'erself such airs!
And before my Oscar too!"

"Listen to me," said Mavis.

"I wonder you don't send for your 'usband to go for me."

"But--"

"Your lovin' 'usband wot's in Ameriky a-making a snug little 'ome for
you."

Mavis was, for the moment, vanquished by the adroitness of Mrs Gowler's
thrust.

"I'm not well enough to quarrel. Please to show me my room."

"That's better. An' I'll be pleased to show you what you call 'my room'
when I've given my Oscar 'is supper," shouted Mrs Gowler, as she sailed
into the kitchen, followed by her gibbering son, who twice turned to
stare at Mavis.

Alone in the unlit, stuffy passage, Mavis whispered her troubles to
Jill. Tears came to her eyes, which she held back by thinking
persistently of the loved one. While she waited, she heard the clatter
of plates and the clink of glasses in the kitchen. Mavis would have
gone for a short walk, but she had a superstitious fear of going out of
doors again till after her baby was born.

The sharp cry, as of one suddenly assailed by pain, came from the floor
overhead. Then a door opened, and footsteps came to the top of the
first flight of stairs.

"Mrs Gowler! Mrs Gowler!" cried a woman's voice frantically. But the
woman had to call many times before her voice triumphed over the
thickness of the kitchen door and the noise of the meal.

"Oo is it?" asked Mrs Gowler, when she presently came from the kitchen,
with her mouth full of bread, cheese, stout, and spring onions.

"Liz--Mrs Summerville!" replied the woman.

"'Arf a mo', an' I'll be up," grumbled Mrs Gowler, as she returned to
the kitchen, to emerge a few seconds later pinning on her apron.

"You finish yer supper, Oscar, but don't drink all the stout," she
called to her son, as she went up the stairs. Before she had got to the
landing, the cr