e workroom, which managed by the end of the
afternoon to be the coldest and the closest room in the neighbourhood,
perhaps owing to Miss Jubb's use of a defective stove for heating, and
her own radical immunity from chilblains.

After tea Sally went straight to Hornsey Road. In thinking of Toby as
she left the house she made a light gesture with her fingers to show
that he no longer existed. If she had met him she would have attempted
no greeting, for such was her present temper. At the Barrows' she was
received with acclamation. Old Perce, who had enjoyed a good deal of
four-ale during the day, and had a jugful of it now at his elbow,
collapsed at sight of her. He bayed a little, but with an expression of
admiring wonder that gave Sally her best tribute. Mrs. Perce, the
expert, nodded. She had received a letter in the morning from Madame
Gala. So to her all the news was known. All the same, Sally spent a
happy couple of hours in the flat, and collected her outdoor clothes
with unwillingness. Each time she had been to see Mrs. Perce she had
felt more strongly than of old the contrast between her always-cheerless
home and their warm, prosperity-laden atmosphere. The recognition acted
powerfully upon her. It was the creation in her mind of a standard of
physical comfort, as the visit to Madame Gala had created a standard of
decorative colour. She was frowning at the new perception as she left
the house, and was half-absorbed in her consciousness of it.

The feeling did not prevent her, at first with a sharp tingling of
surprise, and then, as she grasped the significance of the fact, a start
of emotional disorder, from seeing a familiar figure in the light of the
Supply Stores. Her heart jumped, and began to flurry in her breast. The
figure she saw was that of Toby. He stood a little to the side of the
Stores, watching the doorway from which Sally came. As she flinched, he
came across the road. Sally pretended not to notice him, and knew that
he was following her. But Toby made no attempt to speak to her while
they were in the light of the shops. She saw that he had his cap pulled
very low down over his eyes, and that his hands were not in his pockets,
but hanging loose. He was dressed in a rough dark tweed suit, and looked
like a fighter, but not a professional boxer. His carriage was clumsy,
but light. His dark face was marked by a sort of determination--not
bravado, not impudence, but a solid resoluteness. His eyes she