"Change for half a sovereign. Seven shillings would do."

"Ain't got it. See, fourpence in 'apence, that's all."

The man's eye began to alarm Christopher. He shook with indecision, he
gulped down his bitterness, he handed the golden coin.

"All right; never mind change."

"Thanky, sir. Good night."

And Mr. Parish was alone on the pavement. So grievously did he feel for
the loss of that half-sovereign that for some moments he could think of
nothing else. His heart burned against Polly. What had she got to do
with those people in the big house? How could he be sure that it did
not imply some shameful secret? And he must go throwing away his
hard-earned money! Gladly he would have spent it on a supper for Polly;
but to pay ten shillings for a half-crown drive! A whole blessed
half-sovereign!

Another carriage drove up and stopped at the next house. Christopher
remembered that he must discover the address, an easy matter enough. He
found that the square was called Stanhope Gardens; he noted the number
of the house with flowers. Then, weary, disgusted, he started on his
eastward walk. Omnibuses, of course, there were none. The chance of a
train at some underground station seemed too doubtful to think about;
in any case he had no more money to waste.

On he plodded, heavily, angrily--Cromwell Road, Brompton Road, at last
Piccadilly, and so into familiar districts, though he had never walked
here so late at night. Of course there would be nasty questions
to-morrow; Theodore would look grave, and Ada would be virtuously sour,
and his mother--but perhaps they would not worry her by disclosing such
things. Unaccustomed to express himself with violence, Christopher at
about half-past twelve found some relief in a timid phrase or two of
swearing.

When he reached Shaftesbury Avenue he was dog-tired. The streets had
now become very quiet; he felt a doubt as to the possibility of
knocking at a house door. But Polly had said he was to do so, be the
hour what it might. The front of the house was dark, not a glimmer in
any windows. Doubtfully he drew near and knocked thrice.

Minutes passed, nearly five, in fact, then he knocked again. He would
wait five minutes more, and then--

But the door softly opened.

"That you?" said Polly's voice.

"Yes, it is."

She opened the door wide, and he saw by the light from the street that
she was dressed as usual.

"How late you are! Well? Can't you speak?"

"I'm dead beat, that