th of them.

'Vic, darling, why not?' pleaded Neville gently, still holding her hand.

'I don't know. Oh, no, really I can't, Beauty.'

She did not know it, but generations of clean living were fighting
behind her, driving back and crushing out the forces of nature. She did
not know that, like most women, she was not a free being but the
great-granddaughter of a woman whose forbears had taught her that
illegal surrender is evil.

'I'm sorry, Beauty, . . . it's my fault,' she said.

'Oh, don't mention it,' said Neville icily, dropping her hand. 'You're
playing with me, that's all.'

'I'm not,' said Victoria, tears of excitement in her eyes. 'Oh, Beauty,
don't you understand. We women, we can't do what we like. It's so hard.
We're poor, and life is so dull and we wish we were dead. And then a man
comes like you and the only thing he can offer, we mustn't take it.'

'But why, why?' asked Beauty.

'I don't know,' said Victoria. 'We mustn't. At any rate I mustn't. My
freedom is all I've got and I can't give it up to you like that. I like
you, you know that, don't you, Beauty?'

Neville did not answer.

'I do, Beauty. But I can't, don't you see. If I were a rich woman it
would be different. I'd owe nobody anything. But I'm poor; it'd pull me
down and . . . when a woman's down, men either kick or kiss her.'

Neville shrugged his shoulders.

'Let's go,' he said.

Silently, side by side, they walked out of the park.

CHAPTER XVIII

OCTOBER was dying, its russet tints slowly merging into grey. Thin
mists, laden with fine specks of soot, had penetrated into the
'Rosebud.' Victoria, in her black business dress, under which she now
had to wear a vest which rather killed the tip-drawing power of her
openwork blouse, was setting her tables, quickly crossing red cloths
over white, polishing the glasses, arranging knives and forks in
artistic if inconvenient positions. It was ten o'clock, but business had
not begun, neither Mr Stein nor Butty having arrived.

'Cold, ain't it?' remarked Gertie.

'Might be colder,' said Bella Prodgitt.

Victoria came towards them, carrying a trayful of cruets.

''Ow's Beauty?' asked Gertie.

Victoria passed by without a word. This romance had not added to the
popularity of the chairman's favourite. Cora and Gladys were busy
dusting the counter and polishing the urns. Lottie, in front of a wall
glass, was putting the finishing touches to the set of her cap. The door
opened