And who has reappeared.'

'Ah,' Valentine heard herself exclaim. 'He has reappeared, has he? I gathered as much.' She was glad to be able to keep her under control to that extent.

Perhaps she did not have to trouble. She could not say that she felt changed from what she had been--just before ten minutes ago, by the reappearance of a man she hoped she had put out of her mind. A man who had 'insulted' her. In one way or the other he had insulted her!

But probably all her circumstances had changed. Before Edith Ethel had uttered her impossible sentence in that instrument her complete prospects had consisted of no more than the family picnic, under fig-trees, beside an unusually blue sea--and the prospect had seemed as near--as near as kiss your finger! Mother in black and purple; mother's secretary in black without adornments. Brother? Oh, a romantic figure; slight, muscular, in white flannels with a Leghorn hat and--well, why not be romantic over one's brother--with a broad scarlet sash. One foot on shore and one...in a light skiff that gently bobbed in the lapping tide. Nice boy; nice little brother. Lately employed nautically, so up to managing a light skiff. They were going to-morrow...but why not that very afternoon by the 4.20?

'They'd got the ships, they'd got the men,
They'd got the money too!'

Thank goodness they'd got the money!

The ships, Charing Cross to Vallombrosa, would no doubt run in a fortnight. The men--the porters--would also be released. You can't travel in any comfort with mother, mother's secretary and brother--with your whole world and its baggage--without lots of porters...Talk about rationed butter! What was that to trying to get on without porters?

Once having begun it her mind went on singing the old eighteen-fiftyish, or seventyish, martial, British, anti-Russian patriotic song that one of her little friends had unearthed lately--to prove the historic ferocity of his countrymen:

'We've fought the Bear before,
And so we will again!
The Russians shall not have Constantino...'

She exclaimed suddenly: 'Oh!'

She had been about to say: 'Oh, Hell!' but the sudden recollection that the War had been over a quarter of an hour made her leave it at 'Oh!' You would have to drop war-time phraseology! You became again a Young Lady. Peace, too, has its Defence of the Realm Acts. Nevertheless, she has been thinking of the man who had once insulted her as the Bear, whom she would have to fight again! But with warm generosity she said:

'It's a shame to call him the Bear!' Nevertheless he was--the man who was said to have 'reappeared'--with his problems and all, something devouring...Overwhelming, with rolling grey shoulders that with their intolerable problems pushed you and your own problems out of the road...

She had been thinking all that while still in the School Hall, before she had gone to see the Head: immediately after Edith Ethel, Lady Macmaster had uttered the intolerable sentence.

She had gone on thinking there for a long time...Ten minutes!

She formulated for herself summarily the first item of a period of nasty worries of a time she flattered herself she had nearly forgotten. Years ago, Edith Ethel, out of a clear sky, had accused her of having had a child by that man. But she hardly thought of him as a man. She thought of him as a ponderous, grey, intellectual mass who now, presumably, was mooning, obviously dotty, since he did not recognize the porter, behind the closed shutters of an empty house in Lincoln's Inn...Nothing less, I assure you! She had never been in that house, but she figured him, with cracks of light coming between the shutters, looking back over his shoulder at you in the doorway, grey, superursine...Ready to envelop you in suffocating bothers!

She wondered how long it had been since the egregious Edith Ethel had made that assertion...with, naturally, every appearance of indignation for the sake of the man's Wife with whom, equally naturally, Edith Ethel had 'sided'. (Now she was trying to 'bring you together again'...The Wife, presumably, did not go to Edith Ethel's tea-parties often enough, or was too brilliantly conspicuous when there. Probably the latter!)...How many years ago? Two? Not so much! Eighteen months, then? Surely more!...surely, surely more!...When you thought of Time in those days your mind wavered impotently like eyes tired by reading too small print...He went out surely in the autumn of...No, it had been the first time he went that he went in the autumn. It was her brother's friend, Ted, that went in '16. Or the other...Malachi. So many goings out and returnings: and goings out and perhaps not returning. Or only in bits: the nose gone...or both eyes. Or--or, Hell! oh, Hell! and she clenched her fists, her nails into her palms--no mind!

You'd think it must be that from what Edith Ethel had said. He hadn't recognized the porter: he was reported to have no furniture. Then...She remembered...

She was then--ten minutes before she interviewed Miss Wanostrocht; ten seconds after she had been blown out of the mouth of the telephone--sitting on a varnished pitch-pine bench that had black iron-clamped legs against the plaster wall, non-conformistically distempered in torpedo grey; and she had thought all that in ten seconds...But that had been really how it had been!

The minute Edith Ethel had finished saying the words:

'The sum would be absolutely crushing...' Valentine had realized that she had been talking about a debt owed by her miserable husband to the one human being she, Valentine, could bear to think about. It had naturally at the same moment flashed upon her that Edith Ethel had been giving her his news. He was in new troubles: broken down, broken up, broke to the wide...Anything in the world but broken in...But broken...And alone...And calling for her!

She could not afford--she could not bear!--to recall even his name or to so much as bring up before her mind, into which, nevertheless, they were continually forcing themselves, his grey-blond face, his clumsy, square, reliable feet; his humpish bulk; his calculatedly wooden expression; his perfectly overwhelming, but authentic omniscience...His masculinity. His...his Frightfulness!

Now, through Edith Ethel--you would have thought that even he would have found someone more appropriate--he was calling to her again to enter into the suffocating web of his imbroglios. Not even Edith Ethel would have dared to speak to her again of him without his having taken the first step...

It was unthinkable; it was intolerable; and it had been as if she had been lifted off her feet and deposited on that bench against the wall by the mere sound of the offer...What was the offer?

'I thought that you might, if I were the means of bringing you together...' She might...what?

Intercede with that man, that grey mass, not to enforce the pecuniary claim that it had against Sir Vincent Mac-master. No doubt she and...the grey mass!...would then be allowed the Macmaster drawing-room to...to discuss the ethics of the day in! Just like that!

She was still breathless; the telephone continued to quack. She wished it would stop but she felt too weak to get up and hang the receiver on its hook. She wished it would stop; it gave her the feeling that a strand of Edith Ethel's hair, say, was penetrating nauseously to her torpedo grey cloister. Something like that!

The grey mass never would enforce its pecuniary claim...Those people had sponged mercilessly on him for years and years without ever knowing the kind of object upon which they sponged.