“It is not that. Her cheeks were aflame. "So, stir your stumps, Saint Giles; and, if you mean to lock us up, use despatch. Just as soon as I deal with this little tramp, I’m going to divorce you and take every penny that you’ve ever made, including your pension and your measly inheritance from 125 your dishrag of a father!” Something in the little man’s mind snapped. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other. Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. He HAD followed her! What had he followed her for? He must have followed her all the way from beyond Grosvenor Square. She listened, her suspicions confirmed.
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