nk I ought to tell you this, so that you may
understand--I've looked into shop-windows at lunch-time. You see, it was
to pay for the time when you are preparing to be a doctor. It means
hundreds of pounds, Robert. But I calculated that if I saved a little
every week--I'd manage it--if I didn't die or lose my work."

"Don't, Christine--please don't! Oh, Christine!"

"If I lost my work--Mr. Percy is very kind. He is an old friend and knows
the position. But he has his business to consider. I'm not quick--my
eyes aren't strong. There are younger, cleverer people. We've got to
look things in the face, Robert. If I lost my work there would be nothing
between us and the workhouse--nothing--nothing--nothing."

He was shivering as if with bitter cold. His teeth chattered in his head.
He caught a ghost-like glimpse of a boy in the glass opposite--a strange,
unfamiliar figure with a white, tear-stained face and haggard eyes and
fair hair all on end.

"Oh, Christine--I'm frightened!"

"You think money must come from somewhere. Something will turn up. That
was what your father used to say. He was so hopeful. It wasn't possible
that it shouldn't turn up. But I was younger and stronger then--I can't
begin again.--I can't--I can't. If you're not good, Robert, I can't go
on."

"I will be good. I won't tell lies. I won't spend money ever again. I
won't love anyone but you. I won't be a doctor; I'll be something
cheap--now."

He had forgotten the photographs. He still held them in one
tight-clenched hand. But she had seen them. And all at once she braced
herself although to meet an implacable enemy. She was not tender any
more. She was the Christine who had faced bailiffs and his father's
strange, gay friends--ice-cold and bitter and relentless. She took the
pictures from him. With a terrible ironic calm she sorted them from his
pockets, and spread them out on the table like a pack of cards. He dared
not look at her. He was afraid to see what she was seeing. She had torn
open the door of his secret chamber, and there in that blasting light was
his treasure, naked, defenceless. He could have cried out in his dread,
"Only don't say anything--don't say anything!"

"So that's what you liked so much, Robert--that's what you spent the money
on. It's the old story--beginning again--only worse." She added, almost
to herself:

"A vulgar, common woman."

She put her face between her hands. He could he