work that 'ard?"

"No," said Jane. "I don't think he ever did."

"Then w'y," said Rose, coming straight to her point, "is he doin' it
now?"

They looked at each other; and somehow Jane knew why he was doing it.
She wondered if Rose knew; if she suspected.

"He's doing it," she said, "because he _can_ do it. You've had a good
effect on him."

"Do you think, do you really think it's _me_!"

"I do indeed," said Jane, with immense conviction.

"And you think it doesn't hurt him?"

"No. Does him good. You should be glad when you see him writing."

"If," said Rose, "I _could_ see 'im. But I've bin settin' here thinkin'.
I lie awake sometimes at night till I'm terrified wonderin' wot's
'appenin', and whether 'is brain won't give way with 'im drivin' it. You
see, we 'ad a lodger once and 'e overworked 'is brain and 'ad to be sent
orf quick to the asylum. That's wot's frightened me."

"But I don't suppose the lodger's brain was a bit like Mr. Tanqueray's."

"That's wot I keep sayin' to myself. People's brains is different. But
there's been times when I could have taken that old book away from him
and hidden it, thinkin' that might be for his good."

"It wouldn't be for his good."

"No," said Rose, "I'm not that certain that it would. That's why I don't
do it."

She became pensive.

"Besides, it's 'is pleasure. Why, it's all the pleasure he's got."

She looked up at Jane. Her thoughts swam in her large eyes.

"It's awful, isn't it," said she, "not knowin' wot really is for
people's good?"

"I'm afraid we must trust them to know best."

"Well," said Rose, "I'll just let 'im alone. That's safest."

Jane rose.

"You mustn't worry," said she.

"I don't," said Rose. "He hates worryin'."

She looked up again into Jane's face as one beholding the calm face of
wisdom.

"You've done me good," said she.

Jane stooped and kissed her. She kissed Tanqueray's wife.

"Do you know," she said, "you are what I thought you would be."

Rose's eyes grew rounder.

"And what's that?"

"Something very sweet and nice."

Rose's face was a soft mist of smiles and blushes. "Fancy that," she
said.

"Why did you let her go away without telling me?" said Tanqueray,
half-an-hour later.

"I didn't think," said Rose. "We got talking."

"What did you talk about?"

She would not tell.

XVIII

She had known all the time that if she was not to go on thinking about
George Tanqueray she must see his wife. When