dy knew where he
hid himself.'

'Hid? Why should he hide?'

'I only mean he got out of sight somewheres. I thought perhaps you
might have come across him.'

'No, I haven't. Now I must say good-bye. That lady is waiting for me.'

Miss Eade nodded, but immediately altered her mind and checked Monica
as she was turning away.

'You wouldn't mind telling me what your married name may be?'

'That really doesn't concern you, Miss Eade,' replied the other
stiffly. 'I must go--'

'If you don't tell me, I'll follow you till I find out, and chance it!'

The change from tolerable civility to coarse insolence was so sudden
that Monica stood in astonishment. There was unconcealed malignity in
the gaze fixed upon her.

'What do you mean? What interest have you in learning my name?'

The girl brought her face near, and snarled in the true voice of the
pavement--

'Is it a name as you're ashamed to let out?'

Monica walked away to the bookstall. When she had joined her sister,
she became aware that Miss Eade was keeping her in sight.

'Let us buy a book,' she said, 'and go home again. The rain won't stop.'

They selected a cheap volume, and, having their return tickets, moved
towards the departure platform. Before she could reach the gates Monica
heard Miss Eade's voice just behind her; it had changed again, and the
appealing note reminded her of many conversations in Walworth Road.

'Do tell me! I beg your pardon for bein' rude. Don't go without telling
me.'

The meaning of this importunity had already flashed upon Monica, and
now she felt a slight pity for the tawdry, abandoned creature, in whom
there seemed to survive that hopeless passion of old days.

'My name,' she said abruptly, 'is Mrs. Widdowson.'

'Are you telling me the truth?'

'I have told you what you wish to know. I can't talk--'

'And you don't really know nothing about _him_?'

'Nothing whatever.'

Miss Eade moved sullenly away, not more than half convinced. Long after
Monica's disappearance she strayed about the platform and the
approaches to the station. Her brother was slow in arriving. Once or
twice she held casual colloquy with men who also stood
waiting--perchance for their sisters; and ultimately one of these was
kind enough to offer her refreshment, which she graciously accepted.
Rhoda Nunn would have classed her and mused about her: a not
unimportant type of the odd woman.

* * *

After this Monica frequently went out, always acc