“The Ogre, it seems, has come to see that bullying won’t do. He’s given in tremendously. He’s let her have her way with the waitress strike and she’s going to have an allowance of her own and all kinds of things. It’s settled. It’s his mother and that man Charterson talked him over. You know—his mother came to me—as her friend. For advice. Wanted to find out what sort of things we might have been putting in her head. She said so. A curious old thing—vulgar but—_wise_. I liked her. He’s her darling—and she just knows what he is.... He doesn’t like it but he’s taken his dose. The thought of her going to prison again——! He’s let her do anything rather than that....” “And she’s gone to him!” “Naturally,” said Lady Beach-Mandarin with what he felt to be deliberate brutality. Surely she must have understood—— “But the waitress strike—what has it got to do with the waitress strike?” “She cared—tremendously.” “_Did_ she?” “Tremendously. And they all go back and the system of inspection is being altered, and he’s even forgiven Babs Wheeler. It made him ill to do it but he did.” “And she’s gone back to him.” “Like Godiva,” said Lady Beach-Mandarin with that sweeping allusiveness that was part of her complicated charm. §5 For three days Mr. Brumley was so staggered by these things that it did not occur to him that it was quite possible for him to see Lady Harman for himself and find out just how things stood. He remained in London with an imagination dazed. And as it was the Christmas season and as George Edmund in a rather expectant holiday state had now come up from Margate, Mr. Brumley went in succession to the Hippodrome, to Peter Pan and to an exhibition at Olympia, assisted at an afternoon display of the kinemacolor at La Scala Theatre, visited Hamley’s and lunched George Edmund once at the Criterion and twice at the Climax Club, while thinking of nothing in all the world but the incalculable strangeness of women. George Edmund thought him a very passive leadable parent indeed, less querulous about money matters and altogether much improved. The glitter and colour of these various entertainments reflected themselves upon the surface of that deep flood of meditation, hook-armed wooden-legged pirates, intelligent elephants, ingenious but extremely expensive toys, flickering processions, comic turns, snatches of popular music and George Edmund’s way of eating an orange, pictured themselves on his mind confusedly without in any way deflecting its course. Then on the fourth day he roused himself, gave George Edmund ten shillings to get himself a cutlet at the Café Royal and do the cinematographs round and about the West End, and so released reached Aleham in time for a temperate lunch. He chartered the Aleham car to take him to Black Strand and arrived there about a quarter past three, in a great effort to feel himself a matter-of-course visitor.