She was rather relieved than otherwise when, nearing the end of luncheon, Jane remembered, with some contrition, that she had promised to be at home that afternoon to receive a committee of which she was chairman. “Child welfare,” she said laconically. “The angels weep every time I sit at the head of that board and dilate upon the duty of mothers! Raytham, in spite of queer little ways, is a dear where these societies are concerned, and he’s fearfully in earnest about them. I drew the line when he wanted me to take control of a committee which helps fallen women. That was stretching my sense of humour to a breaking point.” They parted in the Haymarket, and Leslie went back to her flat, stopping on her way to wire to Peter. He came when the day was fading and Lucretia was drawing the curtains. Two stout suitcases were ready packed in the hall, and during the afternoon Coldwell had called her up with strict injunction to be ready for him when he came. “I’m not going to allow you to stay in the flat until this little business is finished,” he said. Here he had a strong supporter in Lucretia Brown. “Not for a million pounds would I stay in this place after dark, miss,” she said. “What with burglars and people jumping out of the window and what not, I wonder I’ve got any hair left! When I combed it this morning it came out in handfuls.” “The remedy for that is shingling,” suggested Leslie, and Lucretia grew sardonic. “When I want to look like a boy I’ll wear trousers, miss!” she said. “Not that I’ve anything to say against shingling, which suits you very well, because you’ve got the kind of head. And as for these bingles with your ears sticking out all over the place like the Princess Bellorino or whatever her name is--I call that disgusting! The only use for ears is to hear with, not to go pushing theirselves out into the world, so to speak. I was hoping her ladyship was coming back this afternoon, miss. A bit of society does nobody any harm.” “If she’d only known, I’m sure she’d have jumped at the opportunity of giving us a social lift,” said Leslie, and Lucretia sniffed. She was not very thin-skinned, but she always knew when her young lady was indulging in what Lucretia described as “sarc.” “I only want to say----” she began. “There’s the bell,” interrupted Leslie. “If it is Mr. Dawlish, shoot him up.” “A low convict!” murmured Lucretia, but she murmured it under her breath. The convict was neither lowly nor humble. Leslie had never seen him look more serious, and the old flippancy of his tone was gone. It was a very determined young man who sat down at the opposite side of her writing table. He had been making inquiries, he said. “It is a hopeless business when you don’t know where to start. I thought Jane would give me a hint, but of course the poor girl is as much in the dark as I. Yes, I am awfully sorry for her. I’m afraid I was rather a brute.” “She doesn’t think you were,” said Leslie lightly.