§ 3 At the corner of the Bockley High Street her only feeling was one of nervous jubilation. The clock chimed the quarter. She remembered with a little thrill of ecstasy how on all other occasions at night when she had heard the clock chime a quarter past eleven she had been anxiously wondering what sort of a row there would be when she reached home. Now she was free. She was not returning home. She was leaving. She was free to go where she liked and do what she liked.... If it were summer time, she thought, I would walk to the Forest and sleep out under the stars.... But it was November.... She decided to travel up to the City and spend the night in one of the waiting-rooms at the big terminals. The next day she would look out for lodgings.... Money was a difficulty. In her pocket was a purse containing the residue of the week’s house-keeping money. It amounted to five and sevenpence half-penny. There were also a couple of penny stamps.... The ideal time for this enterprise would have been a Monday evening in June or July. Still, she would have to make the best of it. With light step she passed along the wide expanse of the High Street in the direction of Bockley Station. As she went on little groups of returning revellers passed her by. Most of them had just come in by train from the City after an evening at the theatre. Some of them stared at her curiously as she hurried by. So did the policeman at the corner of the Station Road. Outside the booking-office she met, of all people in the world, Helen Trant.... Since the episode between herself and George, Catherine had not seen much of Helen. Catherine nodded casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be catching the 11.37 p.m. to the City. “Where’re you off to?” said Helen. “City,” replied Catherine, curtly. “Whatever for at this time of night?” “Oh ... business ... that’s all. ... Excuse me, I shall miss my train....” “No, you won’t. You’ve eleven minutes to wait. Come here.” There was a queer undefinable something in Helen’s voice that commanded and usually obtained implicit obedience. Catherine came. “Well? ... What do you want?” Helen put her arm in Catherine’s. “It’s not my business,” she said, “but I should like you to tell me what’s been happening to you.” “Happening? What do you mean?” “You know what I mean ... Cathie!” “Yes?” “Something’s happened. I can see it in your eyes. Tell me.” Catherine clicked her heels nonchalantly. “Well, if you’re so keen, I don’t suppose there’s much harm in letting you know. I’ve run away from home.... That’s all....” “Run away?” “Yes, run away. Oh, for God’s sake, don’t look so surprised. I suppose it isn’t respectable to run away, is it?” “Don’t be silly.... What were you going to the City for?” “To get a shake-down in a railway waiting-room.” “I see.... Well, you needn’t do that. You can come home with me for to-night.” “Really, Helen, I can’t. It’s awfully good of you, but----”