s; below in the ground
floor, through the half open door, she could see two or three
foreigners, unshaven, dirty-cuffed, playing cards in silence like
hunters in ambush. She shuddered.

'Yes, but Fritz isn't so bad,' broke in Lissa. She had all this time
been wrangling with Zoe.

'No good,' snapped Zoe, 'he's a . . . a _bouche inutile_.' Her pursed-up
lips tightened. Fritz was swept away to limbo by her practical French
philosophy.

'I like him because he is not useful' said Lissa dreamily. Zoe shrugged
her shoulders. Poor fool, this Lissa.

'Who is this Fritz you're always talking about?' asked Victoria.

'He's a . . . you know what they call them,' said Duckie brutally.

'You're a liar,' screamed Lissa jumping up. 'He's . . . oh, Vic, you do
not understand. He's the man I care for; he is so handsome, so clever,
so gentle . . .'

'Very gentle,' sneered Zoe, 'why did you not take off your long gloves
last week, _hein_? Perhaps you had blue marks?'

Lissa looked about to cry. Victoria put her hand on her arm.

'Never mind them,' she said, 'tell me.'

'Oh, Vic, you are so good.' Lissa's face twitched, then she smiled like
a child bribed with a sweet. 'They do not know; they are hard. It is
true, Fritz does not work, but if we were married he would work and I
would do nothing. What does it matter?' They all smiled at the theory,
but Lissa went on with heightened colour.

'Oh, it is so good to forget all the others; they are so ugly, so
stupid. It is infernal. And then, Fritz, the man that I love for himself
. . .'

'And who loves you for . . .' began Zoe.

'Shut up, Zoe,' said Duckie, her kindly heart expanding before this
idealism, 'leave the kid alone. Not in my line of course. You take my
tip, all of you, you go on your own. Don't you get let in with a
landlady and don't you get let in with a man. It's _them_ you've got to
let in.'

'That's what I say,' remarked Zoe. 'We are successful because we take
care. One must be economical. For instance, every month I can. . . .'
She stopped and looked round suspiciously; with economy goes distrust,
and Zoe was very French. 'Well, I can manage,' she concluded vaguely.

'And you need not talk, Duckie,' said Lissa savagely. 'You drink two
quid's worth every week.'

'Well, s'pose I do,' grumbled the cherub. 'Think I do it for pleasure?
Tell you what, if I hadn't got squiffy at the beginning I'd have gone
off me bloomin' chump. I was in Buenos Ayres, went off wit