“I think I was born cheeky,” he agreed complacently. “D’you know what first made me want to talk to you?” “What?” “That pink thing you’ve got on with all the ribbon showing through it.” He put out his hand and, with a familiar gesture, touched the front of her blouse just below her collar-bone. “You mustn’t,” said Elsie, startled. “Why not?” “I don’t allow liberties.” “We’ll have to settle what liberties are, miss. Come for a walk this evening and we can talk about it.” “Oh, I couldn’t! I’m just going into a new job.” She purposely used the word “new,” because she wanted him to think her experienced and grown-up. “What can a kiddie like you do?” “Why, I’m private secretary to a duke, didn’t you know that?” “Lucky duke! Where does he live?” “Oh, that’d be telling. This isn’t Mortimer Crescent?” “It is, very much so indeed, begging your pardon for contradicting a lady.” “Well, don’t come any further,” begged Elsie. “Ta-ta, and thanks for carrying the bag.” “When do I see you again?” “I dunno! Never, I should think.” “Seven o’clock to-night?” “No, I can’t, really.” “To-morrow, then? I’ll be outside the Belsize Park station, and we’ll go on the razzle-dazzle together. I’d like to show you a bit of life. Seven o’clock, mind.” “You and your seven o’clock! You’ll be somewhere with your young lady, I know.” “Haven’t got one.” “Wouldn’t she have you?” scoffed Elsie. “No accounting for tastes, is there?” “I’ll make you pay for this to-morrow night, you little witch--see if I don’t!” Elsie had caught hold of her suitcase, and began to walk away from him. “Which number are you going to?” “Eight.” “I’ll ring the bell for you.” He did so, rather to her fright and vexation. She urged him in low tones to go away, but he continued to stand beside her on the doorstep, laughing at her annoyance, until a capped and aproned maid opened the door. Then he lifted his hat, said “Good-night” very politely, and went away. She never saw him again. IV Elsie found the life at 8, Mortimer Crescent, a pleasant contrast to that of her own home. Mrs. Woolley herself never came downstairs before half-past nine or ten o’clock, and then she was very often only partly dressed, wearing a stained and rumpled silk kimono and a dirty lace-and-ribbon-trimmed boudoir cap. Elsie’s only duty in the morning was to keep the two children quiet while their mother slept. This she achieved by the simple expedient of letting them go to bed so late at night that they lay like little logs far on into the morning. Elsie shared a bedroom with Gladys, and Sonnie’s cot was in a dressing-room opening into theirs. The children were rather pallid and unwholesome, never quite free from colds or coughs, and seeming too spiritless even to be naughty. They went to a kindergarten school from eleven to four o’clock every day, and Elsie took them there and fetched them away again.