Mavis sank wearily in the first empty chair. "Dawes'" had already got on her nerves. She was sick at heart with all she had gone through; from the depths of her being she resented being considered on an equality with the two young women she had met and those she saw about her. She closed her eyes as she tried to take herself, for a brief moment, from her surroundings. She was recalled to the present by a plate, on which was a hunk of bread and a piece of cheese, being thrust beneath her nose. She was hungry when she came downstairs; now, appetite had left her. Her gorge rose at the pasty-faced girls, the brick-walled cellar, the unwholesome air, and the beady-eyed little woman seated at the head of the table. She thought it better, if only for her health's sake, to try and swallow something. She put a piece of cheese in her mouth. Mavis, by now, was an authority on cheap cheese; she knew all the varieties of flavour to be found in the lesser-priced cheeses. Ordinarily, she had been enabled to make them palatable with the help of vinegar, mustard, or even with an onion; but tonight none of these resources were at hand with which to make appetising the soapy compound on her plate. Miss Striem, the dark little woman at the head of the table, noted her disinclination to tackle the cheese. "You can have anything exthra if you care to pay for it," she remarked. "What have you?" asked Mavis. "Ham, bloater, or chicken pathte, and an exthellent brand of thardines." "I'll try the ham paste," said Mavis. An opened tin of ham paste was put before her. Mavis noticed that the other girls were looking at her out of the corners of their eyes. She put some of the paste on to her plate; it looked unusual, even for potted meat; but ascribing its appearance to the effect of the light, Mavis spread some on a bit of bread and put this in her mouth. Only for a moment; the next, she had removed it with her handkerchief. One of the girls tittered. Miss Striem looked sharply in this person's direction. "I can't eat this: it's bad!" cried Mavis. "Perhaps you would prefer a thardine." "Anything, so long as it's fit to eat." Some of the girls raised their eyebrows at this remark. All of them were more or less frightened of Miss Striem, the housekeeper. An opened tin of sardines was set before Mavis. She had only to glance inside to see that its contents were mildewed. "Thanks," she said, pushing the tin away. "I beg your pardon," remarked Miss Striem severely. "They're bad too. I'm not going to eat them." "You'll have to pay for them juth the thame." "What?" cried Mavis. "If you order, you pay. Ith a rule in the houth," said Miss Striem, as if the matter were forthwith dismissed from her mind. "To sell girls bad food?" asked Mavis. "I cannot discuth the matter; the thum due will be deducted from your wageth." Mavis's blood was up. Her wage was small enough without having anything deducted for food she could not eat.