of the question.
A fever of restlessness had come upon her. She put on a kimono, and
went into the kitchen to ascertain whether her commissariat arrangements
would permit of a glass of hot milk.

She had just remembered that she had that morning presented the last
of the milk to a sandy cat with a purposeful eye which had dropped in
through the window to take breakfast with her, when her regrets for this
thriftless hospitality were interrupted by a muffled crash.

She listened intently. The sound had seemed to come from across the
passage. She hurried to the door and opened it. As she did so, from
behind the door of the apartment opposite there came a perfect fusillade
of crashes, each seeming to her strained hearing louder and more
appalling than the last.

There is something about sudden, loud noises in the stillness of the
night which shatters the most rigid detachment. A short while before,
Gerald, toying with the idea of ending his sorrows by violence, had
left Sally unmoved: but now her mind leapt back to what he had said,
and apprehension succeeded indifference. There was no disputing the fact
that Gerald was in an irresponsible mood, under the influence of
which he was capable of doing almost anything. Sally, listening in the
doorway, felt a momentary panic.

A brief silence had succeeded the fusillade, but, as she stood there
hesitating, the noise broke out again; and this time it was so loud and
compelling that Sally hesitated no longer. She ran across the passage
and beat on the door.

2

Whatever devastating happenings had been going on in his home, it was
plain a moment later that Gerald had managed to survive them: for there
came the sound of a dragging footstep, and the door opened. Gerald stood
on the threshold, the weak smile back on his face.

"Hullo, Sally!"

At the sight of him, disreputable and obviously unscathed, Sally's
brief alarm died away, leaving in its place the old feeling of impatient
resentment. In addition to her other grievances against him, he had
apparently frightened her unnecessarily.

"Whatever was all that noise?" she demanded.

"Noise?" said Gerald, considering the point open-mouthed.

"Yes, noise," snapped Sally.

"I've been cleaning house," said Gerald with the owl-like gravity of a
man just conscious that he is not wholly himself.

Sally pushed her way past him. The apartment in which she found herself
was almost an exact replica of her own, and it was