me--and yet--Well, if Mr.
Rashleigh had married a rich girl, I would 'a tyken it as natural and
done my best for 'im, but since 'e 'asn't--Oh, can't madam see?
It's--it's a kind o' pride with me to find some one like--like what I
was when I was 'er age--out in the cold like--and bring 'er in--and
'elp 'er to tryne 'erself--so--so as--some day--to beat the best--them
as 'as 'ad all the chances----"

He was interrupted by the tinkle of the telephone. It was a relief. He
had said all he needed to say, all he knew how to say. Whether madam
understood it or not he couldn't tell, since she didn't seize ideas
quickly.

"If madam will excuse me now, I'll go and answer that call."

But Letty sprang up in alarm. "Oh, don't leave me. Some of them women
will blow in----"

"None of them women will _come_--" he threw a delicate emphasis on the
word--"if madam'll just sit down. They don't mean to come. I'll
explyne that to madam when I come back, if she'll only not leave this
room."

Chapter VI

"Good morning, Steptoe. Will you ask Mr. Allerton if he'll speak to
Miss Walbrook?"

"Mr. Allerton 'as gone to the New Netherlands club for 'is breakfast,
miss."

"Oh, thanks. I'll call him up there."

She didn't want to call him up there, at a club, where a man must like
to feel safe from feminine intrusion, but the matter was too pressing
to permit of hesitation. Since the previous afternoon she had gone
through much searching of heart. She was accustomed to strong
reactions from tempestuousness to penitence, but not of the violence
of this one.

Summoned to the telephone, Allerton felt as if summoned to the bar of
judgment. He divined who it was, and he divined the reason for the
call.

"Good morning, Rash!"

His voice was absolutely dead. "Good morning, Barbara!"

"I know you're cross with me for calling you at the club."

"Oh, no! Not at all!"

"But I couldn't wait any longer. I wanted you to know--I've got it on
again, Rash--never to come off any more."

He was dumb. Thirty seconds at least went by, and he had made no
response.

"Aren't you glad?"

"I--I could have been glad--if--if I'd known you were going to do
it."

"And now you know that it's done."

He repeated in his lifeless voice, "Yes, now I know that it's done."

"Well?"

Again he was silent. Two or three times he tried to find words,
producing nothing but a stammering of incoherent syllables. "I--I
can't talk about it here, Barbe," he