"I don't know what you mean." Her hard voice trembled and then broke harshly--but anger and defiance could not go beyond that. "He paid the quarter's rent before he went. He owes a few pounds but he's going to send me a bit every week until it's paid." "I suppose you've got a list of his liabilities." Even his voice shook a little, but he treated the scorn, the anger, the hard defiance in her eyes as if they were not there. Again the paramount desire was to insult this father of hers, had it been humanly possible to do so. But again was she bereft of the power even to make the attempt. "Yes, I have," she said sullenly. "Let me see it, gel." For nearly a minute she stood biting her lips and looking at him, while for his part he coolly surveyed the shop in all its miserable inadequacy. She still wanted to order him out. His proprietary air enraged her. Yet she could not repress a sneaking admiration for it and that enraged her even more. But she suddenly gave up fighting and retired in defeat to the mysterious region beyond the curtained door, whence she returned very soon with a piece of paper in her hand. Josiah impressively put on his gold-rimmed eyeglasses, a recent addition to his greatness, and examined the paper critically. The amount of William Hollis's indebtedness, declared in hurried, rather illiterate pencil, as if the heart of the writer had not been in his task, came to rather less than twenty pounds. "This the lot?" He spoke as if he had a perfect right to ask the question. "It is." Her eyes and her voice contested the right, yet in spite of themselves they admitted it. "Who owns this here property?" Again the half truculent glance explored every nook and cranny of the meager premises. "Whatmore the builder." Josiah rubbed a thick knuckle upon his cheek. "Ah!" That was his only comment. "Owns the row, I suppose?" Melia supposed he did. "What rent do you pay?" "Twenty-five." She resented the question, but the growing magnetism of having again a real live man to deal with was making her clay in his hands. He took a step to the shop door, the paper still in his hand, and stood an instant looking up the dreary length of narrow street. It was only an instant he stood there, but it was long enough to enable him to make up his mind. Suddenly he swung round on his heel to confront the still astonished and resentful Melia. "Want more window space," he said. "Casement ought to be lower and larger. Those flowers"--he pointed to a bowl of stocks on the counter--"ought to be where people can look at 'em. But this isn't a neighborhood for flowers. Offer vegetables and fruit at a low price, but more shop room's needed so that folks can see 'em and so that you can buy in bigger quantities. Who is your wholesaler?" He looked down the list. "Coggins, eh? Coggins in the Market Place?"