Uncle Tom started: an oath Mr. Allen was savaging died on his lips. Aunt Harriet released her nephew and stood up, staring. Ann continued steadily. “Are you going to question my right?” Bob’s eyes fell. “Of course,” he said clumsily, “of course, if you like to——” “I do. I want to go. It’s my wish. I want you to take me away—out of the house—now. Come, please.” “Out of the ’ouse?” said Bob. “Out of the house,” said Ann. “And—at once. Come.” She turned to the door. No one said anything at all. The quiet, cold air of one having authority tied up their tongues. They felt suddenly diminished. A wave of detestable respect had swept them off their feet. Blood had told. Without turning, Ann passed out. Bob followed his wife, crestfallen enough. . . . There was a moment’s silence. Then— “Dear me,” said Aunt Harriet, trembling with rage and mortification. “Might be a craowned queen. ‘Take me away—aout of the ’aouse—naow . . .’” She laughed hysterically. “Woddid I say?” cried Mr. Allen, smearing the blood from his lip. “Dirt. That’s wot we are—dirt. Dirt for ’er to shake orf ’er gilded feet. Wot if we ’ave——” “Yes, I notice you didn’t say that when she was ’ere,” snapped Aunt Harriet. “Very quiet you was. Anyone might ’ve thought you was frightened.” “_Frightened?_” screamed Mr. Allen. “Gimme my ’at. I’ll show yer whether I’m frightened.” With a filthy oath, he flung Uncle Tom aside, clapped his hat upon his head and lunged to the door. . . . They heard him ricochet down the passage and bawl up the area steps. “Naow you’ve done it, ’Arriet,” breathed Uncle Tom. Bob heard him bawl, too, and stopped in his tracks. He was on the pavement perhaps two houses away. Ann heard the challenge, too, and lost her nerve. She caught at Bob’s arm and tried to pull him along. “Come on, Bob! Come along. Don’t take any notice of him.” Bob resisting, she tried to drag him with her. “For God’s sake, Bob . . .” Before the terror in her voice the last vestige of her authority collapsed. She became again the weaker vessel, meet to be protected—and avenged. Bob shook her off and turned. She flung herself upon him, but he tore her hands away. She reeled against the railings, shaken and fainting. . . . She saw the two men meet and heard the smack of a blow. They parted—then drew together again, assuming grotesque postures like animals about to spring. Again they closed for an instant, ducking and slamming like madmen. Broken spurts of cursing were jerked to her ears. . . . They were in the road now—immediately opposite ‘Pier View.’ A street-lamp showed her the blood on Allen’s face. His mouth was smothered. . . . Figures began to rise out of the shadows. The light of the lamp was illuminating some of their heads. Somebody panted past her hotfoot. A little bunch was crammed in the area gate—Aunt Harriet and . . .