"What do you know of Mr. Kennedy?" she asked, sitting up very straight
and turning flashing eyes upon him. "He certainly wouldn't write to
you. How do you know what he is doing?"

"A little fat bird in a black coat living down Whitechapel way. Oh, I
don't make any secret of it. I know a man who used to be a parson. He
began to stick needles into himself, and the Bishop said--what ho! They
took off his pinafore and he is now teaching Latin outside Aldgate
Station. He's in with the Polish crowd--I beg your pardon, the gentlemen
refugees from Poland--who are sewing the buttons on our shirts not far
from the Commercial Road. Those people knew more about your friend than
he knows about himself. Ask 'em straight and they'll tell you that he is
in Warsaw and the girl Lois Boriskoff with him. Whether they've begun to
keep house, I don't pretend to say. But it's as true as the east wind
and that's gospel. You ask your father to make his own inquiries. I
don't want to take it on myself. If he can tell you that Master Alban
Kennedy is not something like the husband of the Polish lady Lois
Boriskoff, then I'll give a penny to a hospital. Now go and ask him,
Anna--don't you wait a minute, you go and ask him."

"Not until I've had that cup of tea, Willy."

She turned round as the charwoman entered and so hid her face from him.
Light laughter cloaked at once the deep affront her pride had received,
and the personal sense of shame his words had left. Not for a moment did
she question the truth of his story or seek to prove it. As women all
the world over, she accepted instantly the hint at a man's faithlessness
and determined that it must be true. And this was to say that her
passion for Alban Kennedy had never been anything but a phase of
girlish romance acceptable for the moment and to be made permanent only
by persistence. The Eastern blood, flowing warm in her veins, would
never have left her long satisfied with the precise and strenuous
Englishman and the restraint his nationality put upon him. She hungered
for the warm passionate caress which the East had taught her to desire.
She was drawn insensibly toward the man who had awakened this instinct
within her and ministered to it whenever he approached her.

They drank their tea in silence, each perhaps afraid to admit the hazard
of their task. When the moment came, she had recovered her self-control
sufficiently to refer again to the question of the cheque and to do so
adroitly