Instantly her brain told her that there was no way to be found. She fobbed the tidings off and began again. A way. She must find out a way. Where to? A way out—_out_. Suicide, Flight presented themselves and were set upon one side. Flight presented itself again—almost immediately. Ann permitted herself to consider Flight. . . . With a shock she realized that now, if ever, was the time. The hall was in darkness: Bob was not there: before Aunt Harriet could follow, she would be clear of the place: outside, it was night and there were crowds to mingle with: pursuit would be vain. . . . With a hammering heart, Ann began to wonder if there were night trains to Town. . . . Then, with a hideous leer, Flight faded away. _Her things—her money—her hat, even, was at ‘Pier View.’_ To get them was out of the question. The house was locked: Aunt Harriet had the key: if the charwoman was yet there, she did not know Ann by sight: besides—— Oh, it was hopeless, of course . . . hopeless. Ann decided desperately that she must talk to Bob. She must try to explain—teach, if possible, the moment he reappeared, before a worse thing befell. She could not face that awful parlour again. Aunt Harriet alone. . . . Besides, the meal would be of the nature of a wedding-feast. Its prelusive character would be insisted upon. Jocular references would be made: sly digs administered. It would be hideous—revolting. Ann’s flesh crept. The moment Bob came she must ask him to take her outside—away, out of the crowd to where they could have a talk. Perhaps they could get a room somewhere, out on the skirts of the town. He wouldn’t understand, of course. To repulse the kindly advances of his own kin! Deliberately to jettison ‘the best’! All his instincts would jib at such heresy. But to-night—for a week, perhaps, she could override those instincts. As for the future—— Three figures appeared, boggling, at the end of her row. Then they began to push their way along. Mr. Mason came first, announcing in apprehensive falsetto that if anyone pinched him he should call the women police. Uncle Tom followed, heaving with merriment and inquiring cheerily if there was room for a little one. Bob came last, laughing very much and repeatedly asking his companions if they were right for ‘Emmersmith Broadway.’ Cries of ‘Shut up!’ and ‘Sit down!’ resounded. An attendant came bustling. . . . Bob subsided into his seat and mopped his face. Then he laid a hand on Ann’s knee. “Well, Beauty, ’ow’s things?” he whispered. He reeked of liquor . . . reeked. Something deep inside Ann seemed to give way. “Didn’ min’ my leavin’ you, did you, sweetheart? Just ’ad a quick one or two to celebrate. They’re a couple of ’earties, they are—’Erb Mason an’ Uncle Tom. I tell you, kid, you’ve got orf with them all right.” He slid an arm about her and held her tight. “An’ I don’ wonder, by gosh. There ain’t much left to the others when you’re around.”