purpose of saying, "You are a nuisance to me, or
worse!" that he had asked her to his study. Her presence had hitherto
chiefly roused in him the half-amused, half-tender feelings of one who
strokes a foal or calf, watching its soft uncouthness; now, about to say
good-bye to her, there was the question of whether that was the only
feeling.

Miranda, stealing out between her master and his visitor, growled.

The little model, who was stroking a china ash-tray with her ungloved,
inky fingers, muttered, with a smile, half pathetic, half cynical: "She
doesn't like me! She knows I don't belong here. She hates me to come.
She's jealous!"

Hilary said abruptly:

"Tell me! Have you made any friends since you've been in London?"

The girl flashed a look at him that said:

'Could I make you jealous?'

Then, as though guilty of afar too daring thought, drooped her head, and
answered:

"No."

"Not one?"

The little model repeated almost passionately: "No. I don't want any
friends; I only want to be let alone."

Hilary began speaking rapidly.

"But these Hughs have not left you alone. I told you, I thought you
ought to move; I've taken another room for you quite away from them.
Leave your furniture with a week's rent, and take your trunk quietly away
to-morrow in a cab without saying a word to anyone. This is the new
address, and here's the money for your expenses. They're dangerous for
you, those people."

The little model muttered desperately: "But I don't care what they do!"

Hilary went on: "Listen! You mustn't come here again, or the man will
trace you. We will take care you have what's necessary till you can get
other work."

The little model looked up at him without a word. Now that the thin link
which bound her to some sort of household gods had snapped, all the
patience and submission bred in her by village life, by the hard facts of
her story, and by these last months in London, served her well enough.
She made no fuss. Hilary saw a tear roll down her cheek.

He turned his head away, and said: "Don't cry, my child!"

Quite obediently the little model swallowed the tear. A thought seemed
to strike her:

"But I could see you, Mr. Dallison, couldn't I, sometimes?"

Seeing from his face that this was not in the programme, she stood silent
again, looking up at him.

It was a little difficult for Hilary to say: "I can't see you because my
wife is jealous!" It was cruel to tell her: "I don'