"I'd better have my breakfast early, then," said Mr. Hurst, tapping his
pockets. "Good night. And thank you for your advice."

He sat for some time after the disappearance of his host, and then,
returning to the front room, placed a chair at the end of the sofa and,
with the tablecloth for a quilt, managed to secure a few hours' troubled
sleep. At eight o'clock he washed at the scullery sink, and at ten
o'clock Mr. Mott, with an air of great determination, came in to deliver
his ultimatum.

"If you're not outside the front door in five minutes, I'm going to fetch
the police," he said, fiercely.

"I want to see Florrie," said the other.

"Well, you won't see her," shouted Mr. Mott.

Mr. Hurst stood feeling his chin.

"Well, would you mind taking a message for me?" he asked. "I just want
you to ask her whether I am really free. Ask her whether I am free to
marry again."

Mr. Mott eyed him in amazement.

"You see, I only heard from her mother," pursued Mr. Hurst, "and a friend
of mine who is in a solicitor's office says that isn't good enough. I
only came down here to make sure, and I think the least she can do is to
tell me herself. If she won't see me, perhaps she'd put it in writing.