"And I will be patient--so patient! Only we must leave this horrible house: you must find me a lodging where I can be alone." "Why, what's the matter with this house?" He tried a laugh, and the result betrayed him. Her body stiffened again. "When did you apply for the licence?" she demanded. "How long since?" He tried to shuffle. "But answer me!" she insisted, thrusting him away. And then, after a pause and very slowly, "You have not applied at all," she said. "You are lying again. . . . God forgive you." She drew herself up and for an instant he thought she was going to strike him; but she only shivered. "I must go home." "Home!" he echoed. "And whither but home?"--with a loathing look around her. "You will not dare." In all this pitiful scene was nothing so pitiful as the pride in which she drew herself up and towered over the man who had abased her. Yet her voice was quiet. "That you cannot understand is worst of all. I feared sin too little: but I can face the consequences. I fear them less than--than--" A look around her completed the sentence eloquently enough. As she stood with her hand on the door-latch that look travelled around the sordid room and rested finally on him as a piece of it. Then the latch clicked, and she was gone. She stood in the passage by the foot of the staircase. Half-way up the servant girl was stooping over a stair-rod, pretending to clean it. Hetty's wits were clear. She reflected a moment, and mounted steadily to her room, crammed her poor trifles into her satchel, and came down again with a face of ice. The girl drew aside, watching her intently. But--on a sudden impulse--"Miss--" she said. "I beg your pardon!" Hetty paused. "I wouldn't be in a hurry, miss. You can master him, if you try--you and the parson: and the worst of 'em's better than none. And you that pretty, too!" "I don't understand you," answered Hetty coldly, and passed on. John Romley was patrolling the pavement outside. She forced up a smile to meet him. "There has been some difficulty with the licence," said she, and marvelled at her own calmness. "I am sorry, John, to have brought you here for nothing. He hid it from me--in kindness: but meanwhile I am going back." With this brave falsehood she turned to leave him, knowing that he believed it as little as she. He too marvelled. "Is it necessary to go back?" "It is necessary." "Then let me find you some conveyance." But he saw that she wished only to be rid of him, and so shook hands and watched her down the street. "The infernal hound!" he said to himself; and as she passed out of sight he turned to the lodging-house door and entered without knocking.