Her strained ears heard steps in the distance. She peered out into the moonlight. Two dim figures were visible. Abner, in his obstinate folly, had seen her note and refused her warning. Even now there was time to stop him. She dared not call, for it struck her that George might well be coming up behind him. She stood, trembling with impatience, waiting for him to come within earshot. The figures of the man and the child became more distinct. His gait was unsteady but too fast for Gladys, who ran at his side. He carried her note unfolded. The paper showed white in the moonlight. They came toward her, and she saw that it was George. A cry came from her lips. He left the child behind him, stalked straight into the kitchen and flung his hat on the table. He was as pale as death; his cropped head shaped like a skull. The walk had partially sobered him. ‘Go straight upstairs, Gladys,’ she called. ‘It’s dad, mam. I give him Abner’s note.’ ‘Go upstairs as I tell you!’ Gladys’s mouth fell. ‘Why, mam?’ she faltered. George pulled a chair toward him and flopped into it. ‘You be said!’ he shouted. The child ran upstairs, frightened. George sat on, his eyes staring savagely at her out of his sunken orbits. ‘Well, Mary,’ he said at last. ‘This is a bloody fine game!’ She could not speak for her increasing terror. She had never felt so frightened of him in her life. ‘He looks like a criminal,’ she thought. ‘Speak up,’ he said. ‘What’ve you got to say for yourself. What’s the meaning of this?’ He held out her note. ‘Tell him to keep away, would you? You dirty bitch!’ ‘George,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t believe all people tell you. You know your mother’s against me!’ ‘Hold your noise about my mother! She’s a good woman, she is, and a good wife. The likes of you’s not fit to go near her. I know what’s been going on here without her telling me. Sleeping with the lodger! Don’t you deny it, or I’ll bash your mouth in for you!’ ‘Never, George, never!’ she cried, passionately righteous. ‘I swear by God as I’m standing here, it never came to that.’ ‘You can swear by the devil for all I care. I’ve finished with you. It’s him I want!’ His voice left him. He cleared his throat and spat viciously in the fire. Mary pulled her senses together. ‘George,’ she said, ‘have you ever known me tell you a lie?’ ‘I never knew a woman who wouldn’t,’ he said, with a laugh. She let his speech pass. ‘Imagine the hard times we’ve had,’ she went on, ‘and not so much as a word from you! Not a penny in the house! The way he’s worked for us and suffered for us, and all for the sake of the word he gave you. There’s not a man in a million who’d have done it! And all for nothing!’ ‘All for nothing!’ he mocked: ‘tell that to some one else!’