of provisions.

"Really, I don't want any money," she said; "or a shilling at the most,
in case I want to wire to you. Take the money, Jimmy, do; you will want
a drink at the station, and that sort of thing."

He looked at her with shining eyes. "Do you ever think of yourself?" he
asked.

"Of course I do," she laughed. "I want to make you happy, and then I'm
happy, so really I'm selfish, after all."

In the end, Jimmy stayed three days at Walter's, and, if he did not
actually enjoy himself, at least he was well content to be there. It was
very refreshing to be away from all worries, to have no one asking you
for money, to feel you could go out of the door without the fear of
meeting some miserable creditor. There was plenty to eat, plenty to
drink; and, even if he was not actually in sympathy with Walter and his
ways, there was always the tie of blood between them. Mrs. Walter, too,
made herself very pleasant. She had induced her husband to promise not
to lend Jimmy any money, so she had nothing to fear from this
brother-in-law; whilst, by getting on good terms with him otherwise, she
might be able to use him as a pawn in her never-ending game against May
and Ida.

Jimmy thought of Lalage frequently, wondering how she was getting on,
and trying to persuade himself that he was anxious to get back to her;
and yet, all the time, he was comparing his present surroundings with
those of the flat, and dreading the return to the dreary struggle for
existence, the hateful knockings at the door, the insolent refusal of
goods without cash down, the feeling that you were always on thin ice,
in the grip of the Council, the blackmailers, and the hire-purchase
dealers, who did to you as they pleased, because they knew well that you
dare not face the world openly. There was nothing like that at the
Walter Griersons'. They lived as people of position ought to live, as
he, Jimmy Grierson, might have lived, had he not been a fool. And then,
suddenly, he thought of Lalage's unselfishness and courage and tried to
tell himself that, after all, it was worth while. But still, he never
felt as he had felt at Ida's, that fierce longing to be back at Lalage's
side, to fight the world on her behalf. London had broken his nerve
rapidly, and was now breaking his health. Somehow, things had changed.
He longed for rest and comfort and security, such as his own people
enjoyed.

Walter Grierson took his wife's advice and did not attempt to pry in