never
mind, perhaps you're right.'

'I never said so, never thought so,' persisted Betty. 'You can't go
wrong, Vic, you're . . . you're different.'

'Perhaps I am,' said Victoria. 'Perhaps there are different laws for
different people. At any rate I've made my choice and must abide by it.'

'And are you happy, Vic?' Anxiety was in the girl's face.

'Happy? Oh, happy enough. He's a good sort.'

'I'm so glad. And . . . Vic . . . do you think he'll marry you?'

'Marry me?' said Victoria laughing. 'You little goose, of course not.
Why should he marry me now he's got me?'

This was a new idea for Betty.

'But doesn't he love you very, very much?' she asked, her blue eyes
growing rounder and rounder.

'I suppose he does in a way,' said Victoria. 'But it doesn't matter.
He's very kind to me but he won't marry me; and, honestly, I wouldn't
marry him.'

Betty looked at her amazed and a little shocked.

'But, dear,' she faltered, 'think of what it would mean; you . . . he
and you, you see . . . you're living like that . . . if he married
you. . . .'

'Yes, I see,' said Victoria with a slight sneer, 'you mean that I should
be an honest woman and all that? My dear child, you don't understand.
Whether he marries me or not it's all the same. So long as a woman is
economically dependent on a man she's a slave, a plaything. Legally or
illegally joined it's exactly the same thing; the legal bond has its
advantages and its disadvantages and there's an end of the matter.'

Betty looked away over the Thames; she did not understand. The
tradition was too strong. Time went quickly. Betty had no tale to
unfold; the months had passed leaving her doing the same work for the
same wage, living in the same room. Before her was the horizon on which
were outlined two ships; 'ten hours a day' and 'eight bob a week.' And
the skyline?

As they parted, Victoria made Betty promise to come and see her. Then
they kissed twice, gently and silently, and Victoria watched her
friend's slim figure fade out of sight as she walked away. She had the
same impression as when she parted with Lottie, who had gone so bravely
into the dark. A wave of melancholy was upon her. Poor girls, they were
without hope; she at least was viewing life with her eyes open. She
would wrench something out of it yet. She shook herself; it was a
quarter to seven.

An hour later she was sitting opposite Farwell. They were getting to the
end of dinner. Conversation had