put on her wrap. As she put
it on she made him feel against his fingers the sweep of her arm; she
rested for a moment her shoulder against his.

In the cab they did not exchange a word. Victoria's eyes were fixed on
the leaden sky; she was this man's prey. But, after all, one man's prey
or another? The prey of those who demand bitter toil from the charwoman,
the female miner, the P.R.R. girl; or of those who want kisses, soft
flesh, pungent scents, what did it all amount to? And, in Oxford Street,
a sky sign in the shape of a horse-shoe advertising whisky suddenly
reminded her of the half hoop, a step towards that capital which meant
freedom. No, she was not the prey--at least not in the sense of the bait
which finally captures the salmon.

Cairns had not spoken a word. Victoria looked at him furtively. His
hands were clenched before him; in his eyes shone an indomitable
purpose. He was going to the feast and he would foot the bill. On
arriving at Elm Tree Place he walked at once into his dressing room,
while Victoria went into her bedroom. She knew his mood well and knew
too that he would not be long. She did not fancy overmuch the scene she
could conjure up. In another minute or two he would come in with the
culture of a thousand years ground down, smothered beneath the lava-like
flow of animalism. He would come with his hands shaking, ready to be
cruel in the exaction of his rights. She hovered between repulsion and
an anxiety which was almost anticipation; Cairns was the known and the
unknown at once. But whatever his demands they should be met and
satisfied, for business is business and its justification is profits. So
Victoria braced herself and, with feverish activity, twisted up her
hair, sprayed herself with scent, jumped into bed and turned out the
light.

As she did so the door opened. She was conscious for a fraction of a
second of the bright quadrilateral of the open door where Cairns stood
framed, a broad black silhouette.

CHAPTER III

'YES, I'm a lucky beggar,' soliloquised Cairns. He gave a tug to the
leads at which two Pekingese spaniels were straining. 'Come along, you
little brutes,' he growled. The spaniels, intent upon a piece of soiled
brown paper in the gutter, refused to move.

'Obstinate, sir,' said a policeman respectfully.

'Devilish. Simply devilish. Fine day, isn't it?'

'Blowing up for rain, sir.'

'Maybe. Come along, Snoo; that'll do.'

Cairns dragged the dogs up the