ch chain, quickly, nervously,
like a mouse in a wheel. As she looked at his weak mouth his
insignificance was revealed to her. Was this, this creature with the
vague idealistic face, the high shoulders, something to be afraid of?
Pooh!

'Well, Edward?' she said, involuntarily aggressive.

Wren did not answer. His hands suddenly stopped revolving.

'Well, Edward?' she repeated. 'So you've found me?'

'Yes,' he said at length. 'I . . . . Yes, I've found you.' The movement
of his hands began again.

'Well?'

'I know. I've found out. . . . I went to Finsbury.'

'Oh? I suppose you mean you tracked me from my old rooms. I suppose
Betty told you I . . . my new occupation.'

Wren jumped.

'Damn,' he growled. 'Damn you.'

Victoria smiled. Edward swearing. It was too funny. What an awful thing
it was to have a sense of humour.

'You seem to know all about it,' she said smoothly. 'But what do you
want?'

'How dare you,' growled Edward. 'A woman like you. . . . .'

A hard look came into Victoria's eyes.

'That will do Edward, I know my own business.'

'Yes, a dirty business.' A hot flush spread over the man's thin cheeks.

'You little cur.' Victoria smiled; she could feel her lips baring her
eye teeth. 'Fool.'

Edward stared at her. Passion was stifling his words.

'It's a lot you know about life, schoolmaster,' she sneered. 'Who are
you to preach at me? Is it your business if I choose to sell my body
instead of selling my labour?'

'You're disgraced.' His voice went down to a hoarse whisper.
'Disgraced.'

Victoria felt a wave of heat pass over her body.

'Disgraced, you fool? Will anybody ever teach you what disgrace is?
There's no such thing as disgrace for a woman. All women are disgraced
when they're born. We're parasites, toys. That's all we are. You've got
two kinds of uses for us, lords and masters! One kind is honourable
labour, as you say, namely the work undertaken by what you call the
lower classes; the other's a share in the nuptial couch, whether illegal
or legal. Yes, your holy matrimony is only another name for my
profession.'

'You've no right to say that,' cried Edward. 'You're trying to drag down
marriage to your level. When a woman marries she gives herself because
she loves; then her sacrifice is sublime.' He stopped for a second.
Idealism, sentimentalism, other names for ignorance of life, clashed in
his self-conscious brain without producing light. 'Oh, Victoria,' he
said, 'you d