s a rule, Joseph bowed to the storm, but on this
occasion he, too, had lost his temper, and then, suddenly Ida had
understood, or had thought she understood. Joseph knew Lalage's address.
Jealousy redoubled Ida's bitterness, and she went to the flat more than
ever determined to hunt its occupant out into the streets. A woman as
good as herself had a perfect right to be merciless.

When Lalage opened the door she realised instantly who her visitor must
be. That hard, beautiful face was as like Jimmy's in features as it was
unlike his in expression. Looking at it, Lalage understood that her own
cause was lost; it would be quite useless pleading to Ida Fenton.

The visitor swept in scornfully. Lalage closed the door and then stood,
waiting, white-faced and desperate.

"I have come for Mr. Grierson's things. Kindly pack them up and have
them taken down to my cab." Ida's quiet voice belied the savage anger
which the sight of this girl had aroused.

Lalage started. She had never thought of this. Could it be that Jimmy
was not coming back at all, even to say "Good-bye," that she would never
see him again?

"Did he send you?" she asked breathlessly.

In a good cause, Ida did not hesitate to strain the truth. "Of course,"
she answered impatiently, then she went a little too far, and added
something which she thought would hurt. "He is waiting down below now."

Lalage made a rapid mental calculation. Jimmy had only set out for the
City twenty minutes before, and could not have returned, so she laughed
bitterly. "I will give them to Mr. Grierson when he comes for them
himself," she answered.

Ida's steely eyes glittered. "He will not be such a fool as to come
back, weak and wicked though he has been."

The younger woman took a step forward so suddenly that Mrs. Fenton
recoiled. "He is not weak and wicked. It is abominable for you, his
sister, to say so. He is far too good for any of you, and whatever he
has done wrong, you are to blame for it. You never tried to understand
him or help him. You just left him drift away because he didn't fall in
with your narrow-minded ideas. I may have done wrong, I have done wrong;
but he has always been all that is good and true and honourable. He may
leave me, but he'll never go back to you, never, never, never." She
paused, breathless.

Ida Fenton had recovered her composure. "Perhaps it will alter your
point of view when I tell you that if my brother continues to know you,
he will