"No," said Lydia, in a wilful stubbornness; "I don't know her." "You've seen her, haven't you?" "Yes, I've seen her." "You don't like her then?" said Madame astutely. "What's the matter with her?" Something gave way in Lydia. The pressure of feeling was too great and candour seethed over the top. "She's a horrid woman." Or was it because some inner watchman on the tower told her Jeff himself had better hear again what one person thought of Esther? Madame Beattie threw back her plumed head and laughed, the same laugh she had used to annotate the stories. Lydia immediately hated herself for having challenged it. Jeffrey, she knew, was faintly smiling, though she could not guess his inner commentary: "What a little devil!" Madame Beattie now turned to him. "Same old story, isn't it?" she stated. "Every woman of woman born is bound to hate her." "Yes," said Jeff. Lydia walked away, expecting, as she went, to be called back and resolving that no inherent power in the voice of aged hatefulness should force her. But Madame Beattie, having placed her, had forgotten all about her. She rose, and brushed the ashes from her velvet curves. "Come," she was saying to Jeffrey, "walk along with me." He obediently picked up his hat. "I sha'n't go home with you," said he, "if that's what you mean." She took his arm and convoyed him down the steps, leaning wearily. She had long ago ceased to exercise happy control over useful muscles. They even creaked in her ears and did strange things when she made requests of them. "You understand," said Jeffrey, when they were pursuing a slow way along the street, he with a chafed sense of ridiculous captivity. "I sha'n't go into the house. I won't even go to the door." "Stuff!" said the lady. "You needn't tell me you don't want to see Esther." Jeff didn't tell her that. He didn't tell her anything. He stolidly guided her along. "There isn't a man born that wouldn't want to see Esther if he'd seen her once," said Madame Beattie. But this he neither combated nor confirmed, and at the corner nearest Esther's house he stopped, lifted the hand from his arm and placed it in a stiff rigour at her waist. He then took off his hat, prepared to stand while she went on. And Madame Beattie laughed. "You're a brute," said she pleasantly, "a dear, sweet brute. Well, you'll come to it. I shall tell Esther you love her so much you hate her, and she'll send out spies after you. Good-bye. If you don't come, I'll come again." Jeffrey made no answer. He watched her retreating figure until it turned in at the gate, and then he wheeled abruptly and went back. An instinct of flight was on him. Here in the open street he longed for walls, only perhaps because he knew how well everybody wished him and their kindness he could not meet. Madame Beattie found Esther at the door, waiting. She was an excited Esther, bright-eyed, short of breath. "Where have you been?" she demanded.