Lilian felt the rough hair-lining of pleasure. The idea of her insecurity frightened her. She perceived that a life of toil, abstinence, deprivation and cold virginity had its advantages. Of course, Felix was not going to be ill; but if he were, and if her dreadful fears about her own condition were realized--what then? What would happen? Were the moral maxims and strict practice of her parents after all horribly true? The wages of sin, and all that sort of thing ... She heard steps in the distance of the corridor. She peeped. Somebody was approaching. Had she time to cross and vanish into the shelter of her room? She hesitated. The visitant was a woman. It was the girl who in the baccarat rooms had talked of a hundred thousand francs in a cockney accent, the girl whom Felix had described as probably a rising star in the most powerful of professions. She too had a bed, and was seeking it at last. "I expect there’s no chance of getting hold of a servant to-night," said Lilian meekly, as the girl instinctively paused in passing. The girl, staring sharply out of her artificially enlarged eyes, shrugged the shoulders of negation at Lilian’s simplicity. "Anything the matter?" "I only wanted some brandy. My"--’husband’ she meant to say, but could not frame the majestic word--"my friend’s not very well. Chill. He’s had a very little brandy, and might need some more in the night." She flushed. "Come along of me. I’ll let you have some." What a harsh, rasping little voice! The benefactress’s bedroom was in a state of rich disorder that astounded Lilian. The girl turned on every light in the chamber, banged the door, and pushing some clothes off a chair told Lilian to sit down. Drawers were open, cupboards were open, the wardrobe was open. Attire, boxes, bottles, parcels, candles, parasols, illustrated comic papers, novels with shiny coloured covers were strewn everywhere; and in a corner a terrific trunk stood upright. The benefactress began ferreting in drawers, and slamming them to one after another. "I’m afraid I’m putting you to a lot of trouble," said Lilian. "You’re very kind, I’m sure." "Not a bit of it. I never _can_ find anything.... I think us girls ought to stand by each other, that’s what I think. Not as we ever do!" Her voice seemed to thicken, almost to break. Lilian felt as if the entire hotel had trembled under her feet, but she gave no sign of shock; she desired the brandy, if it was to be had. "Us girls"! "You _are_ French, aren’t you? I only ask because you speak English so well." After a moment the girl replied, her head buried in a drawer: