Irene Tidmarsh opened the door, a lanky, big-eyed creature, with two prominent front teeth and an immense plait of ugly brown hair. Her arms and legs were thick and shapeless. “Hallo, Elsie!” “Hallo, Ireen. Look here, I can’t stay. I only want to ask you if you’ll swear we’ve been to the pictures together to-night, if anyone ever asks. Quick! Be a sport, and promise.” “What’s up?” Irene asked wearily. “Oh, only my fun. I don’t particularly want mother to know about me going out to-night, that’s all. If I can say I was with you if I’m asked, it’ll be all right, only you’ll have to back me up if she doesn’t believe me.” “Oh, all right, I don’t care. You’re a caution, Elsie Palmer--you and your made-up tales. Don’t see much difference between them and downright lies, sometimes.” “Well, what am I to do? I can’t ever go anywhere, or have any amusement, without mother and Geraldine wanting to know all about it, and if I’ve been behaving myself, and ’cetera and ’cetera.” “Who is it this time, Elsie?” “Only this fellow who’s leaving to-morrow, the one that’s been P.G. with us such a time, you know.” “Oh, Roberts?” “’M. Well, so long, dear. Thanks awfully and all that. Ta-ta. Don’t forget.” “Ta-ta,” repeated Irene. “You’ll have to tell me all about it on Sunday, mind.” “Awright.” Elsie turned and hurried homeward again, shrugging her shoulders up to her ears as the wind whistled shrilly down the street. It was September, and cold. When she was indoors again, she pulled off her tam-o’-shanter and stuffed it once more into the pocket of her serge skirt. Then she went upstairs to the room at the top of the house that she shared with Geraldine. “I wish you’d knock.” “Whatever for? It’s my room as much as yours, isn’t it?” Elsie said without acrimony. “Have you been washing up all this time?” “Nellie went off early.” “The slut! Whatever for? Did you tell mother?” “No. It wouldn’t be a bit of good. She won’t say anything to Nellie just now, whatever she does, with these new people just coming in.” “Oh, my head!” groaned Geraldine, not attending. She lay on her bed, her white blouse crumpled, and a machine-made knitted coat, of shrimp-pink wool, drawn untidily over her shoulders. Her black Oxford shoes lay on the mat between the two beds, and her black stockings showed long darns and a hole in either heel. Elsie began to arrange her hair before the looking-glass in a painted deal frame that stood on the deal chest-of-drawers. Presently she pulled a little paper bag from one of the drawers and began to suck sweets. “No good offering you any, I suppose?” “Don’t talk of such a thing. Elsie, I can’t come down to supper to-night. Do be a dear and bring me up a cup of tea--nice and strong. I’ve got a sort of craving for hot tea when I’m like this, really I have.”