Three days later Eve rang for Mrs. Buss and had an interview with the woman. She was amused to find that she herself had hardened perceptibly, and that she could lock her sentiments away when the question was a question of cash. Her frankness astonished Mrs. Buss. “I want to explain something to you. I mean to stay here for another three weeks, but I have no more money.” The landlady gaped, not knowing whether this was humour or mere barefaced self-confidence. “You’re going to be married, then?” “No.” “You say you haven’t any money, and you expect me——” “There is the studio.” “A shed like that’s no use to me.” “It cost me about twenty-five pounds, with the stove and fittings, and it is only a few months old. It is made to take to pieces. Shall I sell it, or will you? I was thinking that it might be worth your while.” Mrs. Buss discovered glimmerings of reason. An incipient, sly smile glided round her mouth. “Oh, I see! You think I could drive a better bargain?” “I do.” The middle-class nature was flattered. “You’ll be owing me about four pounds ten. And we might get twelve or thirteen pounds for the studio.” It was studio now, not shed. “Yes. I shall pay your bill, and give you a fifteen per cent. commission on the sale. Do you know anyone who might buy it?” “I’m not so sure, miss, that I don’t.” Mrs. Buss’s eyes were so well opened that she put on her bonnet, went round to a local builder’s, and, telling him a few harmless fibs, persuaded him to buy the studio and its stove for thirteen pounds ten. The builder confessed, directly they had completed the bargain, that the studio was the very thing a customer of his wanted. He said he would look round next day and see the building, and that if he found it all right, he would hand over the money. He came, saw, and found nothing to grumble at, and before the day was out he had resold the studio for twenty pounds, stating blandly that it had originally cost thirty-five pounds, and that it was almost new, and that the gentleman had got a bargain. Mrs. Buss brought the money to Eve, one five pound note, eight sovereigns, and ten shillings in silver, and Eve handed over four pounds, and the commission. “We can settle for any odds and ends when I go.” “Thank you, miss. I may say you have treated me very fairly, miss. And would you mind if I put up a card in the window?” “No.” “You see, it’s part of my living. If one loses a week or two, it’s serious.” “Of course.” So a card with “Apartments” printed on it went up in Eve’s window, helping her to realise that the term of her sojourn in Bosnia Road was drawing to a close. * * * * * CHAPTER XXXIII WOMAN’S WAR