March winds and more sunshine were in evidence, and the weather had a drier and more energetic temper. Eve started out on expeditions. She took two rings, a gold watch, and a coral necklace to a pawnshop in Holloway, and raised three pounds on the transaction. It amused her, tucking the pawn-ticket away in her purse. These last refuges are supposed to have a touch of the melodramatic, but she discovered that expectation had been harder to bear than the reality, and that just as one is disappointed by some eagerly longed for event, so the disaster that one dreads turns out to be a very quiet experience, relieved perhaps by elements of humour. She paid Mrs. Buss’s weekly bill, and studied the woman’s recovered affability with cynical tolerance. Mrs. Buss still believed her to be on the way towards matrimony, and somehow a woman who is about to be married gains importance, possibly because other women wonder what she will make of that best and most problematical of states. It is easy to raise money on some article of value, but it is a much harder matter to persuade people to offer money in return for the activities that we call work. Eve went the round of the agencies without discovering anything that could be classed above the level of cheap labour. There seemed to be no demand for artistic ability. At least, she did not chance upon the demand if it happened to exist. Her possibilities seemed to be limited to such posts as lady help or companion, posts that she had banned as the uttermost deeps of slavery. A factory worker was far more free. She could still contemplate sinking some of her pride, and starting life as a shop-girl, a servant, or a waitress. At one agency the manageress, whose lack of patience made her tell the brusque truth on occasions, went so far as to suggest that Eve might take a place as parlourmaid in a big house. She had a smart figure and a good appearance. Some people were dispensing with menservants, and were putting their maids into uniform and making them take the place of butler and footman. The position of such a servant was preferable to the lot of a lady-help. Wouldn’t Eve think it over? Eve said she would. She agreed with the manageress in thinking that there were gleams of independence in such a life, especially when one had gained a character and experience, learnt to look after silver and to know about wines. None the less, she was discouraged and rebellious, and on her way home after one of these expeditions, she fell in with John Parfit. It was the man of six-and-forty who blushed, not Eve. She had to help him over the stile of his self-consciousness. “Yes, I am ever so much better. Won’t you walk a little way with me? I’ve had tea, and I thought of having a stroll round the Fields.” He put himself at her side with laborious politeness, and because of his shyness he could do nothing more graceful than blurt out questions. “Got what you want yet?” “No, not yet.” He frowned to himself.