To offset this she was good-natured and compliant. She
had had the money, enough for her share in floating the venture. There
had been no complexity in the problem at the start.

It was unfair for her to pan out so. Mary Louise felt in a way that
she had been swindled. She had felt all along that she could dominate
the tone of the establishment, and in fact she had done so. Maida was
not made of the stuff to furnish opposition. That had been one of the
considerations of the partnership. And in all the months of their
association nothing positive had ever cropped out in her. Why, she did
not have the strength to say "no." That was why--Mary Louise's thought
checked itself sharply here and paused. For a while her mind wore
itself out in short, futile meanderings of suppositions. Directly the
dim headlines of the paper she had brought with her claimed her
attention, and then tiring of that she dropped the paper and stared
emptily out of the window. Why, she decided suddenly out of nowhere,
she didn't even know the girl.

A swinging white finger of light came feeling across the sky in her
window. She watched it grope for the brass ball on the peak of the
spire, saw it slip off and fumble and come feeling again, settle with
a determined grasp as if to say, "There, I've got you," and then go
wandering off eastward across the sky. It was the searchlight from the
new Odeon theatre, she remembered. And it might be barely possible
that it was entirely an honourable affair. They might really care for
each other, grotesque as it might seem. Mary Louise granted for the
moment that she had been a detached, impersonal sort of companion and
such a thing might well be possible without her knowledge. But if such
were the case, Maida needs must be apprised at once of the
proprieties. The tea room was a business proposition purely. She would
wait a bit until the proper time and straighten out the kinks.

Somewhat relieved in mind, she leaned back in the chair and rocked
slowly. She began to grow restless, and thought for a moment to switch
on the light. But the room was a bare sort of thing, had nothing of
her in it, and the thought of its bleak primness was repellent. She
decided that a walk was what she needed, to clear out the cobwebs.
Slowly she arose to her feet and groping along the edge of the table,
felt her way to the door. An hour's walk would be enough; she would
not need her coat. Slowly and thoughtfully she opened the door.