The old flower-box whence he had taken the mould for their flourishing roof-garden was a faded, decrepit affair; otherwise its meagre quantity of wood would surely, long ago, have been broken and used as fuel. For years it had stood in a dank corner, barren and forgotten. Then, in a fit of prankishness, Bim carried down a violet, the only one gathered in the Mansion House posy, and planted it. June had given it power of life; with the tenacity of its kind it had struggled, flourished and come to bloom. It was the gnome’s treasure. He was proud of its being, and looked after it in a spoilt parental way, exaggerating its few qualities, blessedly blind to its defects. For some days it bluely blushed unseen; and then came into a prominence which half pleased, half frightened it. Poll Skinner cast her husband-blacked eyes upon it. "Lor’ lummy!" she cried, "a voilet!" She looked at the flower and thereupon fell in a dream. A violet in Paradise Court! For the first time for years she was out of the ugly present, away from the base life about her. Memories of old days, clean days, lived again. She saw herself as she was, before sin, want and selfishness had claimed and kept her. As she was! As she was! She remembered her father’s cottage, with its garden of pinks and wallflowers. She remembered a wood near an ivied church; and was once again a girl, hunting for primroses, bluebells and violets. She remembered her white pinafore and her cleverness at weaving daisy-chains. How clean in all ways was that maiden life! And now---- Paradise Court! Drink and the devil had taken their toll! God! Poll found tears in her eyes when she woke to the present. She wiped her face with grimy hands and left traces. "Blimey, ’ere’s old Poll drunk again!" said one of the knights of the place, a hulking fellow who called himself a dock-labourer, but whose idle hands were almost rooted to his pockets. "What yer starin’ at, Poll?" Poll indicated the flower. He saw it and stretched forth a hand. "There ain’t much to blub about in that!" "Leave it be, Mike!" she cried, fearing his destructiveness. "Leave it be! It’s a voilet!" "A what? Let’s ’ave a look! Who are ye shovin’? I want to look at it." She resisted him. "I’ll wipe yer eyes if ye don’t!" He pushed forward with all his strength, intending, in sheer debasing mischief, to grab and crush the flower; but Poll struggled like a cat-woman to prevent him. He lost temper and struck her in the face. She, shrieking and shrill, tore his forehead with her nails, and tried to bite him. Her hair came loose. There was blood on her cheek. The animal emerged from Man.