As he turned up St. James's Street, he remembered with irritation that he had not yet procured Colonel Tempest's and Archie's address. While he hesitated whether to go on, late as it was, to Brook Street for it, he remembered that he could probably obtain it much nearer at hand, namely, at Archie's rooms in Piccadilly. Archie, who was a person of much pink and monogrammed correspondence, would probably have left his address behind him, stuck in the glass of the mantelpiece, as his manner was. The latch-key he had lent John in the autumn, when John had made use of his rooms, was still on his chain. He had forgotten to return it. He let himself in, went upstairs to the second floor, and opened the door of the little sitting-room. "Here you are at last," said a woman's voice. He went in quickly and shut the door behind him. A small woman in shimmering evening dress, with diamonds in her hair, came towards him, and stopped short with a little scream. It was Madeleine. He looked at her in silence, standing with his back to the door. The smouldering fire in his eyes seemed to burn her, for she shrank away to the further end of the room. John observed that there was a fire and lamps, and knit his brows. Some persons are unable to perceive when explanations are useless. Madeleine began one--something about Archie's difficulties, money, etc.; but John cut her short. "You are not accountable to me for your actions," he said. "Keep your explanations for your husband." He looked again with perplexity at the fire and the lamps. He knew Archie had gone that morning on three days' leave to Brighton with his father. "Let me go," she said, whimpering. "I won't stay here to be thought ill of, to have evil imputed to me." "You will answer one question first," said John. "You impute evil to me--I know you do," said Madeleine, beginning to cry; "but it is your own coarse mind that sees wickedness in everything." "Possibly," said John. "When do you expect Archie?" "Any moment. I wish he was here, that he might tell you----" "Thank you, that will do. You can go now." He opened the door. She drew a long cloak over her shoulders and passed him without speaking, looking like what she was--one of that class whose very existence she professed to ignore, but whose ranks she had virtually joined when she announced her engagement to Sir Henry in the _Morning Post_. Perhaps, inasmuch as that, untempted, she had sold herself for diamonds and position, instead of, under strong temptation, for the bare necessities of life like her poorer sisters, she was more degraded than they; but fortunately for her, and many others in our midst, society upheld her. John looked after her and then followed her. There was not a soul on the common staircase or in the hall. He passed out just behind her, and they were in the street together. "Take my arm," he said, and she took it mechanically. He signalled a four-wheeler and helped her into it.