henware. At the windows hung heavy dark curtains from
great rings that gleamed gilt near the ceiling; and lest the light which
they admitted should be too powerful it was further screened by greyish
white curtains within them. The carpet was covered in most places by
small rugs or bits of other carpets, and in the deep shadows beneath
sofas and chairs and behind the piano it seemed to slip altogether out
of existence into black nothingness. The room lacked ventilation, but
had the appearance of having been recently dusted.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THREE.

Hilda closed the draped door with a mysterious, bitter, cynical smile.

"Sit down," she said coldly.

"Last night," Edwin began, without sitting down, "when you mentioned the
broker's man, were you joking, or did you mean it?"

She was taken aback.

"Did I say `broker's man'?"

"Well," said Edwin, "you've not forgotten, I suppose."

She sat down, with some precision of pose, on the principal sofa.

"Yes," she said at length. "As you're so curious. The landlords are in
possession."

"The bailiffs still here?"

"Yes."

"But what are you going to do?"

"I'm expecting them to take the furniture away to-morrow, or Tuesday at
the latest," she replied.

"And then what?"

"I don't know."

"But haven't you got any money?"

She took a purse from her pocket, and opened it with a show of impartial
curiosity. "Two-and-seven," she said.

"Any servant in the house?"

"What do you think?" she replied. "Didn't you see me cleaning the
door-plate last night? I do like that to look nice at any rate!"

"I don't see much use in that looking nice, when you've got the bailiffs
in, and no servant and no money," Edwin said roughly, and added, still
more roughly: "What should you do if anyone came inquiring for rooms?"
He tried to guess her real mood, but her features would betray nothing.

"I was expecting three old ladies--sisters--next week," she said. "I'd
been hoping I could hold out till they came. They're horrid women,
though they don't know it; but they've stayed a couple of months in this
house every winter for I don't know how many years, and they're firmly
convinced it's the best house in Brighton. They're quite enough to keep
it going by themselves when they're here. But I shall have to write and
tell them not to come this time."

"Yes," said Edwin. "But I keep asking you--what then?"

"And