ool of herself, as usual.
Him and his little leg. She grimaced round the chapel, waiting for
people to bob up their heads and take their departure.

At the gate Albert was waiting for her. He came forward lifting his
hat with a smiling and familiar "Good evening!"

"Good evening," she murmured.

"It's ages since I've seen you," he said. "And I've looked out for
you everywhere."

It was raining a little. She put up her umbrella.

"You'll take a little stroll. The rain isn't much," he said.

"No, thank you," she said. "I must go home."

"Why, what's your hurry! Walk as far as Beeby Bridge. Go on."

"No, thank you."

"How's that? What makes you refuse?"

"I don't want to."

He paused and looked down at her. The cold and supercilious look of
anger, a little spiteful, came into his face.

"Do you mean because of the rain?" he said.

"No. I hope you don't mind. But I don't want to take any more walks.
I don't mean anything by them."

"Oh, as for that," he said, taking the words out of her mouth. "Why
should you mean anything by them!" He smiled down on her.

She looked him straight in the face.

"But I'd rather not take any more walks, thank you--none at all,"
she said, looking him full in the eyes.

"You wouldn't!" he replied, stiffening.

"Yes. I'm quite sure," she said.

"As sure as all that, are you!" he said, with a sneering grimace. He
stood eyeing her insolently up and down.

"Good-night," she said. His sneering made her furious. Putting her
umbrella between him and her, she walked off.

"Good-night then," he replied, unseen by her. But his voice was
sneering and impotent.

She went home quivering. But her soul was burning with satisfaction.
She had shaken them off.

Later she wondered if she had been unkind to him. But it was
done--and done for ever. _Vogue la galere._

CHAPTER VI

HOUGHTON'S LAST ENDEAVOUR

The trouble with her ship was that it would _not_ sail. It rode
water-logged in the rotting port of home. All very well to have
wild, reckless moods of irony and independence, if you have to pay
for them by withering dustily on the shelf.

Alvina fell again into humility and fear: she began to show symptoms
of her mother's heart trouble. For day followed day, month followed
month, season after season went by, and she grubbed away like a
housemaid in Manchester House, she hurried round doing the shopping,
she sang in the choir on Sundays, she attended the various chapel