'Yes,' she said. 'But you must know lots of people. You never told me, but you're a swell and all that. You must have known lots of rich men when you came to London.' She stopped abruptly, shocked by her own audacity. But Victoria was no longer noticing her; she was following with lightning speed a new train of thought. 'Betty,' she cried, 'you've done it. I've found the man.' 'Have you? Who is it,' exclaimed Betty. She was excited, unable in her disapproval of the irregular to feel uninterested in the coming together of women and men. 'Never mind. You don't know him. I'll tell you later.' An extraordinary buoyancy seemed to pervade Victoria. The way out! she had found the way out! And the two little words echoed in her brain as if some mighty wave of sound was rebounding from side to side in her skull. She was excited, so excited that, as she said goodbye to Betty, she forgot to fix their next meeting. She had work to do and would do it that very night. As soon as Betty was gone she dressed quickly. Then she changed her hat to make sure she was looking her best. She went out and, with hurried steps, made for the Finchley Road. There was the house with the evergreens, as well clipped as ever, and the drive with its clean gravel. She ran up the steps of the porch, then hesitated for a moment. Her heart was beating now. Then she rang. There was a very long pause during which she heard nothing but the pumping of her heart. Then distant shuffling footsteps coming nearer. The door opened. She saw a slatternly woman . . . behind her the void of an empty house. She could not speak for emotion. 'Did you want to see the house, mum,' asked the woman. She looked sour. Sunday afternoon was hardly a time to view. 'The house?' 'Oh . . . I thought you come from Belfrey's, mum. It's to let.' The caretaker nodded towards the right and Victoria, following the direction, saw the house agents' board. Her excitement fell as under a cold douche. 'Oh! I came to see . . . Do you know where Mr Holt is?' 'Mr Holt's dead, mum. Died in August, mum.' 'Dead.' Things seemed to go round. Jack was the only son . . . then?' 'Yes, mum. That's why they're letting. A fine big 'ouse, mum. Died in August, mum. Ah, you should have seen the funeral. They say he left half a million, mum, and there wasn't no will.' 'Where is Mrs Holt and . . . and Mr Holt's son.' The caretaker eyed the visitor suspiciously. There was something rakish about this young lady which frightened her respectability. 'I can't say, mum,' she answered slowly. 'I could forward a letter, mum,' she added. 'Let me come in. I want to write a note.' The caretaker hesitated for a moment, then stood aside to let her pass. 'You'll 'ave to come downstairs mum,' she said, 'sorry I'm all mixed up. I was doing a bit of washing. Git away Maria,' to a small child who stood at the top of the stairs.