carefully invested will
bring you in as much. But even if it doesn't bring in quite as much, you
mustn't forget that Calder Street's going down--it's getting more and
more of a slum. And there'll always be a lot of bother with tenants of
that class."

"I wish I could sell everything--everything!" she exclaimed
passionately. "Lessways Street as well! Then I should be absolutely
free!"

"You can!" he said, with dramatic emphasis. "And let me tell you that
ten years hence those Lessways Street houses won't be worth what they
are now!"

"Is that property going down, too?" she asked. "I thought they were
building all round there."

"So they are," he answered. "But cheap cottages. Your houses are too
good for that part of the town; that's what's the matter with them.
People who can afford L25 a year--and over--for rent won't care to live
there much longer. You know the end house is empty."

All houses seemed to her to be a singularly insecure and even perilous
form of property. And the sale of everything she possessed presented
itself to her fancy as a transaction which would enfranchise her from
the past. It symbolized the starting-point of a new life, of a
recommencement unhampered by the vestiges of grief and error. She could
go anywhere, do what she chose. The entire world would lie before her.

"Please do sell it all for me!" she pleaded wistfully. "Supposing you
could, about how much should I have--I mean income?"

He glanced about, and then, taking a pencil from his waistcoat pocket,
scribbled a few figures on his cuff.

"Quite three pounds a week," he said.

IV

After a perfunctory discussion, which was somewhat self-consciously
prolonged by both of them in order to avoid an appearance of hastiness
in an important decision, George Cannon opened his black bag and then
looked round for ink. The little room, having no table, had no inkpot,
and the lawyer took from his pocket an Eagle indelible pencil--the
fountain-pen of those simple days. It needed some adjustment; he stepped
closer to the window, and held the pointed end of the case up to the
light, while screwing the lower end; he was very fastidious in these
mechanical details of his vocation. Hilda watched him from behind, with
an intentness that fascinated herself.

"And how's the _Chronicle_ getting on?" she asked, in a tone of friendly
curiosity which gave an exaggerated impression of her actual feeling.
She was more and more ashamed that during