A slatternly woman was standing at the entrance of a narrow court in one of the worst parts of Chelsea. She was talking to a neighbour belonging to the next court, who had paused for a moment for a gossip in her passage towards a public-house. 'Your Sal is certainly an owdacious one,' she said. 'I saw her yesterday evening when you were out looking for her. I told her she would get it hot if she didn't get back home as soon as she could, and she jest laughed in my face and said I had best mind my own business. I told her I would slap her face if she cheeked me, and she said, "I ain't your husband, Mrs. Bell, and if you were to try it on you would find that I could slap quite as hard as you can."' 'She is getting quite beyond me, Mrs. Bell. I don't know what to do with her. I have thrashed her as long as I could stand over her, but what is the good? The first time the door is open she just takes her hook and I don't see her again for days. I believe she sleeps in the Park, and I suppose she either begs or steals to keep herself. At the end of a week maybe she will come in again, just the same as if she had only been out for an hour. "How have you been getting on since I have been away?" she will say. "No one to scrub your floor; no one to help you when you are too drunk to find your bed," and then she laughs fit to make yer blood run cold. Owdacious ain't no name for that wench, Mrs. Bell. Why, there ain't a boy in this court of her own size as ain't afraid of her. She is a regular tiger-cat, she is; and if they says anything to her, she just goes for them tooth and nail. I shan't be able to put up with her ways much longer. Well, yes; I don't mind if I do take a two of gin with you.' They had been gone but a minute or two when a man turned in at the court. He looked about forty, was clean shaven, and wore a rough great-coat, a scarlet and blue tie with a horseshoe pin, and tightly cut trousers, which, with the tie and pin, gave him a somewhat horsey appearance. More than one of the inhabitants of the court glanced sharply at him as he came in, wondering what business he could have there. He asked no questions, but went in at an open door, picked his way up the rickety stairs to the top of the house, and knocked at a door. There was no reply. He knocked again louder and more impatiently; then, with a muttered oath, descended the stairs. 'Who are you wanting?' a woman asked, as he paused at a lower door. 'I am looking for Mrs. Phillips; she is not in her room.' 'I just saw her turn off with Mother Bell. I expect you will find them at the bar of the Lion, lower down the street.'