'No, not exactly. It is my idea. Now do. You shall have all the perfumes. Consider how on Sunday you will make the Baptist Chapel smell of Jockey Club!' 'Give up Mark? Break the bond? I can't. I could not, even if I would.' CHAPTER XX DAGGING When Zita returned to Prickwillow, Leehanna Tunkiss, with a malicious leer, said, 'The master is upstairs, and would like to speak with you;' then, with a sidelong look at the maid-of-all-work and a giggle, she curtseyed and added 'Miss.' Zita ascended leisurely to her room, removed her bonnet and changed her shoes, put on an apron, and then proceeded to Drownlands' office. She did not hurry herself. She sauntered along the passage and hummed a folk-melody—'High Germany.' She stayed to shut a bedroom door that was ajar and swinging in the draught. She trifled with a canary that hung in a window. The office door was open. She knew that Drownlands had heard her come in, had heard Mrs. Tunkiss inform her that she was wanted, heard her ascend the stairs. She knew that he was waiting with impatience whilst she removed bonnet and shoes, that he was chafing at the leisurely manner in which she approached his den. After a while she tapped at the half-open door in careless fashion, threw it open and stood in the doorway, and shrugged her shoulders, then rubbed her hands as though they were cold. 'Mrs. Tunkiss said you required my presence.' 'You have taken your time in coming.' Drownlands was at his table; he had been biting his fingers. There was a sheet of blotting paper on the board; he had scratched it, torn four strips out of it with his nails. His face was troubled and was working. 'Why did you not come at once?' 'I had to remove my shoes; they were wet. I did not suppose you were in much of a hurry.' 'Come inside. Why do you stand in the doorway?' She obeyed. 'Well, is it necessary to leave the door wide open behind you?' She closed the door. 'Shut it, I say.' She obeyed, and leaned her back against the valve, crossed her feet, and put her hands behind her on the handle. 'Where have you been?' asked Drownlands imperiously. 'To Red Wings, to see your niece. You don't know her. It is a pity. You should look after her; she is your own relation. She is not bad in her way, but awfully poor—and pig-headed too, which poor people oughtn't to be, because they can't afford it. I went to have a deal with her, but it was of no use. She would do no business with me.' 'Oh, you have gone back to your old profession of Cheap Jack, have you?'