"Yer can't see fer face powder in the air," commented Annie, after taking in the tea. John was a guest. He enjoyed hearing them lie so magnificently to each other about the salaries they earned and the promises made by managers. Yet they were good-hearted backbiters, loving the venom for the chameleonic skill with which their tongues struck the victims, intending no permanent harm to any one. They all showed the worst side to the world and kept their private griefs smothered in the dreary back rooms of dingy lodging houses. For all their cheapness, Wellington and de Courtrai had hearts of gold. They had nursed him through a bad attack of influenza, with unwearying devotion, and no woman's hand could have ministered more skilfully and patiently. Their artificiality was on the surface, their feminine air companioned a feminine tenderness to each other--and on this occasion, to John. Even Captain Fisher, when they cooked his breakfast, on the sudden collapse of Mrs. Perdie and Annie with influenza, declared they were born batmen. "If they'd take a cold bath every morning and crop their hair, they might pass as men," he growled. They would have won him completely by their attentions during those influenza days had they not called him "dear," in conversation on the third morning, whereupon Captain Fisher spilt his coffee in an apoplectic rage. III It was during those weeks of July that Lindon arrived at a condition which to John seemed hysterical. Ever since he had taken him to Tilly's studio he had haunted the place like a silent ghost; that he was madly in love with her he made no attempt to hide, and she, no less than he, found the day dull when he was absent. He vowed that Tilly was necessary to his music; he could not work without her, there was no quality in his playing unless he played to her. One night, after John had dined at his flat, Lindon walked up and down the room, pouring out his agony of mind. His people had refused to allow him to marry yet. "I'm tied up with an allowance, Scissors--and I can't go on--we can't go on--it's hell!" "We?--is Tilly unwilling to wait?" "Yes, to wait--like me--why should we lead this miserable divided life, when we belong to each other, when there's no existence apart? I tell you it's immoral! Why shouldn't I marry--in the vigour of youth, with a girl in a million. It's natural, it's right--and we're told to wait--for what? Till we're wiser, if you please. Wiser!--oh my God! Madness, that's how it'll end!" Suddenly he turned upon his heel and looked at John, who sat quietly in a chair.