ght. If I won a sweep, I'd take a few lessons meself an' cut him
out."

He became aware that Miss Giltinan was standing behind him, and raised
his voice.

"I was tellin' Harris that the price of these bluchers ought to be
marked down; they're beginning to sweat," he explained, turning to Miss
Giltinan and showing her some small spots like treacle on the uppers.

"Mr Jones doesn't pay you good money to talk behind his back; and if
you take the trouble to look at the tag, you'll see those boots have
already been marked down," she replied indignantly.

The shopman slinked away without a word. Miss Giltinan was annoyed. It
was not the first time that she had heard these scandalous rumours, for
the shop was alive with whispers, some professing to know every detail
of the meetings between Jonah and the music-teacher, naming to a minute
the boat they caught on their return from Mosman. Jonah had contrived
to avoid the faces that were familiar to him, but he had forgotten that
he must be seen and recognized by people unknown to him. Miss
Giltinan's clear and candid mind rejected these rumours for lying
inventions, incapable of belief that her idol, Jonah, would carry on
with any woman. They talked about him going upstairs to hear the piano.
What was more natural when he couldn't play it himself? And she
dismissed the matter from her mind and went about her business.

Clara gave Ray his lesson, listening between whiles for a rapid step
from below, but none came. She decided to go, and picked up her
gloves. But as she passed the bedroom door on the landing, a voice
that she recognized for Ada's called out "Is that you, Miss Grimes?"

"Yes," said Clara, and paused.

The voice sounded faint and thin, like that of a sick woman.

"'Ow is it y'ain't playin' anythin' to-day?" she continued.

"Mr Jones is out," replied Clara, annoyed by this conversation through
the crack of a door, and anxious to get away.

"Oh, is 'e?" said Ada, with an increase of energy in her voice. "I
wish yer'd come in fer a minit, if ye're not in a 'urry."

Clara pushed the door open, and went in. It was her first sight of the
bedroom, and she recoiled in dismay. The place was like a pigsty. Ada
was lying on the bed, still tossed and disordered from last night, in a
dirty dressing-gown. A basin of soapy water stood on the washstand,
and the carpeted floor was littered with clothes, a pile of penny
novelettes, and a collection of odds and e