“I’d ought to,” said Mrs. Brown proudly. “I’ve had eight myself.” He trudged back to Easy Row, where the professionals’ pianos, tuned in quarter-tones, were already combining to show their catholicity in musical taste. Boyce was drowsing in an easy-chair with the Greek Anthology open in his lap. “Well, how’s your Mrs. Higgins?” he asked lazily. “Oh, she’s all right. A _primip_. Is Mrs. Hadley through her little troubles?” “B.B.A. Born before arrival. A soft job. Saves a lot of trouble.” “My good lady will haul us out in the middle of the night, damn her!” said Edwin. A conventional mode of expression, for he didn’t in the least feel like damning Mrs. Higgins. In his mind he still carried the picture of her plain hair and blotched face: he could hear the sound of that sudden shudder and the noise of the bedstead creaking. The evening passed quietly. They tried to read, but found the feeling of suspense made that impossible. No message came from Mrs. Higgins, and as they were almost certain to be called out in the night, they went to bed early. While they were undressing, Boyce humming softly the Liebestod from Tristan, the bell in their bedroom rang. “Mrs. Higgins,” said Edwin. “I’d better go and see.” He groped his way downstairs. In the front room a party of music-hall artistes were making a noisy supper. Before he could reach the door the bell rang again, and when he opened it, a big man whose breath smelt of liquor, lurched into the hall. “Are you the doctor?” “Yes.” “You’re to come at once to thirty-four Greville Street. It’s the missus. The nurse says it’s urgent.” The nurse always said it was urgent. Boyce came downstairs grumbling. “We’d better go together.” “What about my friend, Mrs. Higgins?” “Oh, damn Mrs. Higgins!” said Boyce. It was a clear and frosty night, in which all points of light, whether of starshine, or street-lamps, or of blue sparks crackling from the tramway cables, shone brightly. The Greville Street husband lurched along beside them, just sufficiently awake to show them the way through a maze of rectangular byways to a street that lay upon the outer edge of the district that the hospital covered. The chill clarity of the air dispelled sleep. It was even pleasant to be walking there, for at this time of the night the town was so empty that they might almost have been walking over a country road. “Here it is,” said the husband thickly.