The man was standing behind him, the leer upon his greasy face. Joyce had been blissfully unaware that he had dogged his steps from that street corner to the stage-door of the theatre, and from the stage-door hither. The sight of him was a stroke of cold terror. “Go away. I ’ll give you in charge,” he stammered, losing his head for the moment. Annie Stevens clutched his arm. “Who is this beastly man?” she said. “Only an old pal, miss,” said the man, edging towards the door. “We was in quod many months together, and now he won’t give me ’arf a crown to keep me from starving.” “By God!” cried Joyce, making a sudden dash at him. But the man was too quick; he had secured his retreat, and when Joyce reached the pavement--the house was at a corner of cross roads--he could not catch the fall of his footsteps. The man had vanished into the night, and pursuit was hopeless. It had all passed with the sudden unexpectedness of a dream. Joyce put his hand to his forehead and tried to think. He could scarcely realise exactly what had happened. He seemed to be enveloped with tiny tingling waves that drew his skin tight like a drum for his heart to beat against. He turned, and saw Annie Stevens standing by his side, in the light of the public-house, with anger on her face. “What have you got to say for yourself?” she asked brusquely. “Do you believe that man?” said Joyce, the words coming painfully. Their lack of conviction damned him. The girl drew back a step, and looked at him with revulsion in her eyes. “You can’t deny it! I see that you can’t. You’ve just come out of prison.” If the world had been at his feet he could not have lied convincingly at that moment. He could only stare at her haggardly and rack his brains for words that would not come. She moved away instinctively from the public glare and turned down the dark street that led toward their destination. “It’s a lie,” he said desperately, striding to her side. “No it is n’t. It’s truth. I read it on your face. That’s why you’ve come down in the world--that’s why you live by yourself--that’s why you didn’t dare come out this afternoon--and that’s where you’ve known all those privations I never dreamed of. It’s no good telling lies.” “Well, it’s true,” said Joyce. “And I ’ve paid the penalty for my folly ten times over. Forget all this, Annie, for God’s sake.” “Go away!” she cried, walking faster. “I don’t want to see you again. Oh, to think of it makes me sick! Go away, do!” But he followed her imploringly. He was at her mercy. “I don’t care what you think of me,” he said. “I will keep out of your way as much as you like. Only, a word from you would ruin me. Keep my story secret, like an honourable woman. I have done nothing to you.”