“You _must_.” “But your mother----” “Mother and father are away for the week-end.” “Really, I’d much rather not.” “That doesn’t matter. You’ve got to. You can easily sleep with me. We’ll talk the whole question over to-night before going to sleep. You can’t do a big thing like this all on your own.” “That’s just what I can. I’m going to, anyway....” “Well, you’re coming home with me to-night, anyway....” “If you insist----” “I do.” A man came striding up the stairs three at a time from the platform. It was George Trant. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “The luggage-office was shut, and I had to waken somebody up....” Then he saw Catherine. “... Er ... I say ... I didn’t see you, Miss Weston! Or shall I call you Catherine, as I used? And how are you? I haven’t heard of you for ages.” He held out his hand, but Catherine made no movement. “I’m quite well,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry I can’t stop here talking; I’ve a train to catch. Good-night!” “Cathie!” cried Helen, but Catherine was too far down the steps to be recalled. Helen followed her on to the platform and overtook her near to the further end. “You’re coming back, Cathie. Don’t be silly.... You must ...” Catherine held herself passionately erect. The signal lights winked from red to green. “It’s no good your trying to persuade me, Helen.... I’m not coming. I wouldn’t enter the same house with that man.... No, no, no, no, I’m not coming.” The train came in to the platform. “Cathie!” “No, no! ... I’m not coming, I tell you....” She opened the door of a third-class compartment and entered. “You’ll wish you hadn’t done this, Cathie.” “Never.” The train slid away into the night and Helen was left standing on the platform. She had a swift impulse to jump into the tail-end of the now quickly-moving train and go with Cathie to the next station. But the train was moving too rapidly for her to attempt this manœuvre in safety. And behind her stood George a little bewildered (he had followed her slowly down the steps). “What’s all the fuss about?” he queried suspiciously. “Nothing,” replied Helen. Then, as they walked together along the platform, “You’ll have to tell the man we gave up our tickets before.” As they hurried along the Bockley High Street the clock on the Carnegie library chimed the three-quarters....