of settling day.'

'Perhaps yer'll tell me wot yer mean, Miss Prodgitt,' snarled Gertie,
her brown eyes flashing, her cockney accent attaining a heroic pitch.

'What I say,' remarked Miss Prodgitt, with the patronising air that
usually accompanies this enlightening answer.

'Ho, indeed,' snapped Gertie, 'then p'raps yer'll keep wot yer've got
ter sye to yersel, _Miss_ Prodgitt.'

The fat girl opened her mouth, then, changing her mind, turned to
Victoria and informed her that the weather was very cold for the time of
the year.

'That'll do, Gertie,' remarked Lottie, 'you leave Bella alone and hook
it.'

Gertie glowered for a moment, wasted another look of scorn on her
opponent and flounced out of the room into a cupboard-like dark place,
whence issued sounds like the growl of an angry cat. Something had
obviously happened to her hat.

Victoria looked round aimlessly. She had no appetite; for half-past
three, the barbarous lunch hour of the Rosebud girls, seemed calculated
to limit the food bill. By her side Bella was conscientiously absorbing
the potatoes that her daintier companions had left over from the Irish
stew. Lottie was deeply engrossed in a copy of _London Opinion_, left
behind by a customer. Victoria surveyed the room, almost absolutely bare
save in the essentials of chairs and tables. It was not unsightly,
excepting the fact that it was probably swept now and then but never
cleaned out. Upon the wall opposite was stuck a penny souvenir which
proclaimed the fact that the Emperor of Patagonia had lunched at the
Guildhall. By its side hung a large looking glass co-operatively
purchased by the staff. Another wall was occupied by pegs on which hung
sundry dust coats and feather boas, mostly smart. Gertie, in the corner,
was still fumbling in the place known as 'Heath's' because it
represented the 'Hatterie.' It was a silent party enough, this; even the
two other girls on duty downstairs would not have increased the
animation much. Victoria sat back in her chair, and, glancing at the
little watch she carried on her wrist in a leather strap, saw she still
had ten minutes to think.

Victoria watched Gertie, who had come out of 'Heath's' and was poising
her hat before the glass. She was a neat little thing, round everywhere,
trim in the figure, standing well on her toes; her brown hair and eyes,
pursed up little mouth, small, sharp nose, all spoke of briskness and
self-confidence.

'Quarter to four, doin'