In the gaslit kitchen, surrounded by steaming linen, Victoria wrote a little feverish note in pencil. The caretaker watched her every movement. She liked her better somehow. 'I'll forward it all right, mum,' she said. 'Thank you mum. . . . Oh, mum, I don't want you to think--' She was looking amazedly at the half sovereign in her palm. 'That's all right,' said Victoria, laughing loudly. She felt she must laugh, dance, let herself go. 'Just post it before twelve.' The woman saw her to the door. Then she looked at the letter doubtfully. It was freshly sealed and could easily be opened. Then she had a burst of loyalty, put on a battered bonnet, completed the address, stamped the envelope and, walking to the pillar box round the corner, played Victoria's trump card. CHAPTER XV 'AND so, Jack, you haven't forgotten me?' For a minute Holt did not answer. He seemed spellbound by the woman on the sofa. There she lay at full length, lazy grace in every curve of her figure, in the lines of her limbs revealed by the thin sea-green stuff which moulded them. This new woman was a very wonderful thing. 'No,' he said at length, 'but you have changed.' 'Yes?' 'You're different. You used to be simple, almost shy. I used to think you very like a big white lily. Now you're like--like a big white orchid--an orchid in a vase of jade.' 'Poet! artist!' laughed Victoria. 'Ah, Jack, you'll always be the same. Always thinking me good and the world beautiful.' 'I'll always think you good and beautiful too.' Victoria looked at him. He had hardly changed at all. His tall thin frame had not expanded, his hands were still beautifully white and seemed as aristocratic as ever. Perhaps his mouth appeared weaker, his eyes bluer, his face fairer owing to his black clothes. 'I'm glad to see you again, Kathleen Mavourneen,' she said at length. 'Why did you wait so long?' asked Holt. 'It was cruel, cruel. You know what I said--I would--' 'No, no,' interrupted Victoria fearing an avowal. 'I couldn't. I've been through the mill. Oh, Jack, it was awful. I've been cold, hungry, ill; I've worked ten hours a day--I've swabbed floors.' A hot flush rose in Holt's fair cheeks. 'Horrible,' he whispered, 'but why didn't you tell me? I'd have helped, you know I would.' 'Yes, I know, but it wouldn't have done. No, Jack, it's no good helping women. You can help men a bit; but women, no. You only make them more dependent, weaker. If women are the poor, frivolous, ignorant things they are, it's because they've been protected or told they ought to want to be protected. Besides, I'm proud. I wasn't coming back to you until I was--well I'm not exactly rich, but--' She indicated the room with a nod and Holt, following it, sank deeper into wonder at the room where everything spoke of culture and comfort. 'But how--?' he stammered at last, 'how did you--? what happened then?' Victoria hesitated for a moment.