with oilcloth. She raised her bicycle and wheeled it in. A
Jewish-looking youth emerging from the shop accosted her.

"Your gentleman friend says you are to stay in your rooms, please, until
he comes."

His warm red-brown eyes dwelt on her lovingly. "Shall I take your
luggage up, miss?"

"Thank you; I can manage."

"It's the first floor," said the young man.

The little rooms which Thyme entered were stuffy, clean, and neat.
Putting her trunk down in her bedroom, which looked out on a bare yard,
she went into the sitting-room and threw the window up. Down below the
cabman and tobacconist were engaged in conversation. Thyme caught the
expression on their faces--a sort of leering curiosity.

'How disgusting and horrible men are!' she thought, moodily staring at
the traffic. All seemed so grim, so inextricable, and vast, out there
in the grey heat and hurry, as though some monstrous devil were sporting
with a monstrous ant-heap. The reek of petrol and of dung rose to her
nostrils. It was so terribly big and hopeless; it was so ugly! 'I shall
never do anything,' thought Thyme-'never--never! Why doesn't Martin
come?'

She went into her bedroom and opened her valise. With the scent of
lavender that came from it, there sprang up a vision of her white
bedroom at home, and the trees of the green garden and the blackbirds on
the grass.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs brought her back into the
sitting-room. Martin was standing in the doorway.

Thyme ran towards him, but stopped abruptly. "I've come, you see. What
made you choose this place?"

"I'm next door but two; and there's a girl here--one of us. She'll show
you the ropes."

"Is she a lady?"

Martin raised his shoulders. "She is what is called a lady," he said;
"but she's the right sort, all the same. Nothing will stop her."

At this proclamation of supreme virtue, the look on Thyme's face was
very queer. 'You don't trust me,' it seemed to say, 'and you trust that
girl. You put me here for her to watch over me!...'

"I 'want to send this telegram," she said

Martin read the telegram. "You oughtn't to have funked telling your
mother what you meant to do."

Thyme crimsoned. "I'm not cold-blooded, like you."

"This is a big matter," said Martin. "I told you that you had no
business to come at all if you couldn't look it squarely in the face."

"If you want me to stay you had better be more decent to me, Martin."

"It must be your own affair," said