“You can't charge her for that.” “She half murdered you!” “She never touched me. Why don't you do as I told you? Why don't you send her away?” “Mercy, Bob! you'll fall and kill yourself!” “Do as I say, then! Do as I say!” “Well, put back your head! Put back your head.” “Do as I say, then!” Mrs. Chater stopped the paddle-wheel; rose to her feet. Bob's ghastly face drew in to safer limits. She addressed Mary: “Again my boy has interceded for you. Oh, how you must feel!” She addressed the maids: “Is her box packed?” They chorused “Yes”; pointed, and Mary saw her tin box, corded, set against the wall. “Call a cab,” Mrs. Chater commanded; and as the whistle blew she turned again upon Mary. “Now, miss, you may go. I pack you off as you deserve. But before you go--” The battered face shot out again above the banisters: “Pay her her wages and send her away, mother. Do, for goodness' sake, send her away!” “Wages! Certainly not! Mercy! Your head again! Go back, Bob!” The maddened, pain-racked Bob bellowed: “Oh, stop it! stop it! I shall go mad in a minute. She is entitled to her wages. Pay her.” “I won't!” “Well, I will. Susan! Susan, come up here and take this money. How much is it?” “She is not to be paid,” Mrs. Chater trumpeted. “She is to be paid,” bawled her son. “Do you want an action brought against you? Oh, my God, what a house this is!” “My boy! You will fall! Very well, I'll pay her.” Mrs. Chater turned to Mary. “Again and yet again my son intercedes for you, miss. Oh, how you must feel!” She grabbed around her dress for her pocket; found a purse; produced coins; banged them upon the table. “There!” And now my Mary, who had stood upright breasting these successive surges, spoke her little fury. With a hand she swept the table, sending the coins flying this way and that--with them a card salver, a vase, a pile of prayer-books. With her little foot she banged the floor. “I would not touch your money--your beastly money. You are contemptible and vulgar, and I despise you. Mr. Chater, if you are a man you will tell your mother why you were thrashed. Do you dare to say you interfered because you found me with someone? Do you dare?” With masterly strategy Bob drove home a flank attack. To have affirmed he did dare might lead to appalling outburst from this little vixen. He said very quietly, as though moved by pity: “Please do not make matters worse by blustering, Miss Humfray.” He sighed: “I bear you no ill-will.” My poor Mary allowed herself to be denuded of self-possession. His words put her control to flight; left her exposed. Tears started in her eyes. She made a little rush for the stairs. “Oh, you coward!” she cried. “You coward! I will make you say the truth.” Would she have clutched the skirts of his dressing-gown, forgetting the proper modesty of a nice maiden, and dragged him down the stairs? Would she indelicately have pursued him to his very bedroom, and there, regardless of his scanty dress, have assaulted him?