Every day Leah added something to the legend of Mendel, Mrs. Finch urging her on with romances of her own splendid days. But the most eager listener was Hetty, the girl who did the rough work of the house and was never properly dressed until the evening, because, from the moment when she woke up in the morning until after supper, she was kept running hither and thither at Mrs. Finch's commands. She was sufficiently like Mrs. Finch to justify Golda in her supposition that she was that fine woman's daughter, but nothing was ever said in the matter. Hetty did not have her meals with them, and, indeed, there was no evidence that she had any meals. In the evenings she was allowed to go out, and she would come back at half-past ten or so with her big eyes shining and a flush fading from her cheeks and leaving them whiter than ever. Very big were her eyes, very big and pathetic, and her face was a perfect oval. She had rather full lips, always moist and red. During the whole fortnight she never spoke a word except to Issy. Indeed, she avoided Golda and Leah, and she alarmed Issy by what he took to be her forwardness, when she asked him to take her to the theatre. He complied with her request, but he was much too frightened of her to speak, and he could think of nothing to say except to offer to buy her chocolates and cigarettes, which she accepted as though it was the natural thing for him to give her presents. She talked to him about Mendel, and wanted to know if it was true that he knew lords and had real gentlemen to tea with him in his studio. "There's more goes on in his studio than I could tell you," said Issy with a dry, uncomfortable laugh. "Artists, you know!" "Oh yes! Artists!" said Hetty with a dreamy, wistful look in her eyes as she drew in her lower lip with a slight sucking noise. "I wish I lived in London, I do. Ma used to live in London, but she's too old now to find any one to take her back there. It's dull here. Does your brother ever come to Margate?" "No," said Issy. "He'd go to Brighton if he went anywhere. I've got another brother who's gone to Paris." "O-oh! Paris! Is he rich too?" "No." Issy shut up like an oyster. He could feel the girl probing into him, and he was sorry he had brought her. She was spoiling his fun, the adventures he had promised himself during his holiday from Rosa's indefatigable attentions. Hetty was too dangerous. He knew that if she got hold of him she would not let go. He took her home and never spoke another word to her during the remainder of his visit, and he said to his mother once:-- "That's an awful girl." "Worse than Rosa?" asked Golda. "Rosa would stay. That girl would be off like a cat on the tiles." Golda retorted with a description of Rosa of the same kind, but of a more offensive degree.