It would soon be time to go down again to Rottingdean; Maddison had written to say that work was progressing fast and well, and calling on her to keep her promise to return to him when he could truly report that things were going satisfactorily. She hated the very thought of him now—without any reason, as she admitted to herself. She had looked to West for rescue, and now he seemed about to fail her. A ring at the outer bell surprised her, and, knowing her maid to be in bed, she went to answer it herself. “Hullo,” said Mrs. Harding, as Marian opened the door and looked inquiringly out. “Are you alone?” “Yes, come in.” “Only for half a shake. I’ve got two boys upstairs, and I thought if you were alone, you’d like to come up for a bit. They’re both pretty oofy, and I can spare you one of them. Come along. You look spiffing.” The angry blood in her jumped at this unexpected opportunity. Mrs. Harding’s room reeked with cigarette smoke and the smell of spirits. Two well-dressed young men lounged one on each side of the fireplace, in front of which stood the sofa on which Mrs. Harding had evidently been lying. “Here, boys,” she said, ushering in Marian. “Now we shall be a four. Two’s company, so’s four, when they split into twos. I’m not good at introductions: Bobby Williams and Chawles Brewer, who never gets quite so intossicated as his name suggests, and this is Marian, though I can’t call her Maid Marian. Now, you sit down that end of the sofa and keep your eye on Bobby or he’ll run you in before you know where you are. Have a drink? I’ve only got B. and S.” “Yes, thanks, I’m thirsty. I’ve been at the Gaiety, and theaters always make me dry.” Bobby, as a rule, was not at a loss for conversation in such society as the present, but Marian’s beauty and style overawed him at first. As for her, she was mad with the spirit of dare-devilry and threw away all remaining sense of decency. She drank eagerly at the brandy-and-soda, soon handing the glass to Bobby to be replenished. “Say when,” he said, holding up the tumbler and the spirit decanter. “When!” said Marian, stopping him when he had poured out a stiff allowance, “and not too much water. And then you may mix quite a mild dose for yourself.” She laughed gayly as she took the glass from him, and Mrs. Harding was not so engrossed in her companion’s talk as to fail noticing Marian’s wildness. “Been dining too—eh, Maid Marian?” she asked. “Yes, so I’m not hungry, only thirsty. Now, Bobby, amuse me.” “What shall I do?” “Talk, tell stories, anything except be serious. I daresay Ethel told you I was a serious young person, but I’m not. She don’t really know me.” “Nor do I,” said Bobby; his eyes adding that he would like to do so. “That’s a misfortune that can be mended.” Her color heightened and her eyes grew brighter as the brandy warmed her blood, and a stray tress of hair fell deliciously down her neck. She put up her feet on his knees as she repeated: