woman of yesterday; they still burned.

"Why," he exclaimed, looking around him, "you have been busy, haven't
you?"

"I've been up since six," she told him proudly. The flat had been
dismantled of its meagre furniture, the rug was rolled up and tied, and a
trunk strapped with rope was in the middle of the floor. Her next remark
brought home to him the full responsibility of his situation. She led
him to the window, and pointed to a spot among the drenched weeds and
rubbish in the yard next door. "Do you see that bottle? That's the
first thing I did--flung it out there. It didn't break," she added
significantly, "and there are three drinks in it yet."

Once more he confined his approval to his glance.

"Now you must come and have some breakfast," he said briskly. "If I had
thought about it I should have waited to have it with you."

"I'm not hungry." In the light of his new knowledge, he connected her
sudden dejection with the sight of the bottle.

"But you must eat. You're exhausted from all this work. And a cup of
coffee will make all the difference in the world."

She yielded, pinning on her hat. And he led her, holding the umbrella
over her, to a restaurant in Tower Street, where a man in a white cap and
apron was baking cakes behind a plate-glass window. She drank the
coffee, but in her excitement left the rest of the breakfast almost
untasted.