Aunt Ada and Aunt Gertie were making violent signs to her, and in the interval Horace, still evidently bent upon doing everything possible to please her, insisted upon going to speak to them, and suggested supper after the play. “He is going it,” Elsie reflected dispassionately, not in the least touched, but a good deal amazed at the lavishness of Horace’s amends. She was in reality very much bored by the company of the two aunts in the little restaurant to which they eventually went. “Why don’t you go and see your poor mother, Elsie?” “I do see her, Aunt Gertie.” “Not very often, dear.” “As often as I’ve time for,” said Elsie curtly. “Geraldine’s not looking well,” Aunt Ada began next. “What happened to that young fellow she was supposed to be going with last year?” Horace Williams called abruptly for his bill. “It’s after twelve, and I’ve got to be at work to-morrow, if you ladies haven’t. All good things must come to an end, you know.” “It’s been most pleasant, I’m sure,” said Aunt Gertie. And when Horace had gone to pay the account at the cash-desk, she added sentimentally to Elsie: “It’s a real pleasure to have seen you and him together--and so happy.” “Thanks,” said Elsie sarcastically. “We’re as happy as the day is long, of course.” “So you ought to be,” said Aunt Ada very sharply. They exchanged good-byes outside the restaurant, and Elsie and her husband went by Tube to their own station. The long suburban road was almost deserted when they came out into it. “We’ll go by the Grove, of course,” said Elsie, indicating the narrow alleyway that eventually merged into their own street, with a high blank wall upon one side of it and the backs of a rather sordid row of houses upon the other. A few leafless plane-trees showed above the top of the wall, and an occasional tall lamp slightly relieved the gloom of the long, paved passage-way. Their footsteps on the stones were clearly audible in the unusual stillness that belonged both to the deserted locality and to the small hours of the morning. “Who’s that?” said Horace so suddenly that Elsie jumped. Footsteps were hurrying behind them, and they both turned. With a strange sense of foreknowledge, Elsie saw Leslie Morrison. The two men stopped dead as they came face to face with one another. Elsie shrank back against the high yellow brick wall, her eyes fixed upon Morrison’s ravaged face. “I couldn’t rest for thinking of it all. I know what happened to-day, Williams,” he said in a high, strained voice. “It can’t go on. You’re making Elsie’s life hell. Give her her freedom.” “Damn you! Who are you to interfere between man and wife?” said Williams, low and fiercely. “I know what you want, both of you, but you won’t have it. Elsie’s my wife, and I shan’t let her go.” “You’ve got to.” Horace Williams, looking full at the youth, who was shaking from head to foot with excitement, gave his low, malevolent laugh.