Mrs. Rover, who apparently was an extremely obstinate woman, paused irresolutely, looking at the stolid policeman with a battle light in her eyes. But the constable met her gaze firmly, so finding that feminine persistence could do nothing in the face of an official barrier, she turned away biting her lip. "Come upstairs, Dorry," she said, beginning to ascend; "I can do nothing with that fool." Prelice smiled at this Parthian arrow, and slipped a florin into the constable's hand to pacify him for the parting insult. Then he ran up after the lady, and reached her on the next landing. "You ought to be pleased, Constance," he said slyly; "you've had the last word." "I should like to have had the last half-dozen," she retorted, putting a Yale latch-key into the lock. "I think that you have even achieved that," replied Prelice dryly. "It is extraordinary that women never will learn that the law is stronger than sheer temper." "I am not in a temper," snapped Mrs. Rover, sweeping into her flat. "I never was calmer in my life--never, never, never." "I am quite content to believe that," said her companion acidly; for as Constance Newton, Mrs. Rover had not been noted for imperturbability. It was all the better, in Prelice's opinion, that her temperament should be thus fiery, as he would discover from her rash tongue much that a more cautious and composed woman would withhold. Moreover, Constance and her visitor had been friends for many a long year--witness her calling him Dorry--and she was accustomed to speak frankly to him about her troubles. Had Prelice been in England when the stockbroker was courting the lady, it is doubtful if Constance would ever have become Mrs. Rover. And Prelice strongly suspected that Mr. Rover found Ned Shepworth an inconvenient third in his married state. "You are looking very well, Constance," said Prelice when the two were seated in the drawing-room, which was more gorgeous than artistic. "I'm not well then. I'm nearly worried to death." "So sorry. Tell me all about it." "I'll do nothing of the sort." "I beg your pardon. Let us chat about the weather." "Do you think that I have time to waste in discussing barometers?" She rose, impetuously. "Don't know, I'm sure," replied Prelice, keeping his temper admirably. "Well then, I haven't." "Would it do any good if I gave you a thorough shaking?" "Yes, it would. If Dolly shook me I should respect him; but he lets me lead him the life of a dog, and doesn't even bark, much less bite." "I see, you prefer a bull-dog to a poodle." "Ned isn't a----" Mrs. Rover stopped in the centre of the room, grew red, and could have bitten out her tongue for so incautious a speech. "What rubbish you talk!" she said, trying to smile carelessly. Prelice looked at her gravely. "I hope you are talking rubbish too." "I wish I were dead and buried!" whispered Mrs. Rover, and once more sat down to burst into violent tears.