Eliphalet sprang to his feet and arrived in the passage in time to see the door at the far end swing to with a bang that shook the house. “How very curious!” he said, and returned to his chair. “God! It’s Cardy,” gasped Mrs. Montmorency, panting breathlessly against the mantelpiece. She rang the bell furiously, but when Emma arrived waved her away with, “No—no—I want nothing. I’ve had a shock, that’s all; but I can manage.” She managed uncommonly well, and it must be considered as providential that her purchases that afternoon had included two bottles of brandy whereby the ill effects of the shock were capable of being warded off. By the time the first bottle was at half-tide, she was able to review the situation less fearfully. Here was her first husband—the man who divorced her—living under the same roof as a guest, and with him was a grown-up daughter. What would be the result of this intolerable coincidence? As a late member of the Boards herself, her imagination supplied many startling solutions. The conventional idea was that Eliphalet, realising what he had thrown away, would implore her to take pity and return to the shelter of his arms; the dramatic, that after years of anger and dull hatred, the sight of her would cast him into such a frenzy that murder would be done. In support of this theory came the memory of how once he had called out his man to fight with pistols for the sake of her honour. It was all very irritating and tiresome, coming as it did at the time when she had settled down to peaceable ways of living. As fruits of many affectionate years, she was left with money enough to buy the small lodging-house, and a matter of fifty pounds per annum over and above to guarantee a convivial Saturday at the end of each week. This was not affluence by any means, but it sufficed to make life endurable. It was impossible that Eliphalet would be in so good a position, and was it not more than likely that if he discovered her, his first thoughts would be to negotiate a loan? This latter theory caused Mrs. Montmorency more uneasiness than any other. Generosity was not a strong point, beyond the latitude she allowed herself for personal indulgences. Clearly, then, Eliphalet Cardomay’s propinquity was not to be encouraged. Once more she rang the bell for Emma. “What terms did you ask these people for my rooms?” she demanded. “I asked ’em twenty-five.” “And they beat you down?” “Oh, yes,” said Emma, who was sick of the whole affair. “I thought as much. And where are they playing?” “Nowhere. They’re r’hearsing.” “Indeed! And who ever heard of letting rooms to an actor who was rehearsing?” “They’ve got to sleep somewhere while they’re doing it—haven’t they?” “They are not going to sleep here—not after to-night, or to-morrow at the latest. That I _have_ made up my mind to. This house is not a charitable institution; whatever else it may be, it isn’t that.”