entered it now, and put down a shilling that missed the counter by
inches.

"B--b--bran--brandy," he said, and then stooped to look for the shilling.

He had the little sawdusted bar to himself; what company there
was--carters and labourers and the small tradesmen of the
neighbourhood--was gathered in the farther compartment, beyond the space
where the white-haired landlady moved among her taps and bottles. Oleron
sat down on a hardwood settee with a perforated seat, drank half his
brandy, and then, thinking he might as well drink it as spill it,
finished it.

Then he fell to wondering which of the men whose voices he heard across
the public-house would undertake the removal of his effects on the
morrow.

In the meantime he ordered more brandy.

For he did not intend to go back to that room where he had left the
candle burning. Oh no! He couldn't have faced even the entry and the
staircase with the broken step--certainly not that pith-white,
fascinating room. He would go back for the present to his old
arrangement, of workroom and separate sleeping-quarters; he would
go to his old landlady at once--presently--when he had finished his
brandy--and see if she could put him up for the night. His glass was
empty now....

He rose, had it refilled, and sat down again.