He put on some clothes and went downstairs.  A crack of light showed under the kitchen door, and, pushing it open with some force, he gazed spellbound at the spectacle before him.

“Come in,” said Mr. Hurst, heartily.  “I’ve just finished.”

He rocked an empty beer-bottle and patted another that was half full.  Satiety was written on his face as he pushed an empty plate from him, and, leaning back in his chair, smiled lazily at Mr. Mott.

“Go on,” said that gentleman, hoarsely.  Mr. Hurst shook his head.

“Enough is as good as a feast,” he said, reasonably.  “I’ll have some more to-morrow.”

“Oh, will you?” said the other.  “Will you?”

Mr. Hurst nodded, and, opening his coat, disclosed a bottle of beer in each breast-pocket.  The other pockets, it appeared, contained food.

“And here’s the money for it,” he said, putting down some silver on the table.  “I am determined, but honest.”

With a sweep of his hand, Mr. Mott sent the money flying.

“To-morrow morning I send for the police.  Mind that!” he roared.

“I’d better have my breakfast early, then,” said Mr. Hurst, tapping his pockets.  “Good night.  And thank you for your advice.”

He sat for some time after the disappearance of his host, and then, returning to the front room, placed a chair at the end of the sofa and, with the tablecloth for a quilt, managed to secure a few hours’ troubled sleep.  At eight o’clock he washed at the scullery sink, and at ten o’clock Mr. Mott, with an air of great determination, came in to deliver his ultimatum.

“If you’re not outside the front door in five minutes, I’m going to fetch the police,” he said, fiercely.

“I want to see Florrie,” said the other.

“Well, you won’t see her,” shouted Mr. Mott.

Mr. Hurst stood feeling his chin.

“Well, would you mind taking a message for me?” he asked.  “I just want you to ask her whether I am really free.  Ask her whether I am free to marry again.”

Mr. Mott eyed him in amazement.

“You see, I only heard from her mother,” pursued Mr. Hurst, “and a friend of mine who is in a solicitor’s office says that isn’t good enough.  I only came down here to make sure, and I think the least she can do is to tell me herself.  If she won’t see me, perhaps she’d put it in writing.  You see, there’s another lady.”

“But” said the mystified Mr. Mott.

“You told me——­”

“You tell her that,” said the other.

Mr. Mott stood for a few seconds staring at him, and then without a word turned on his heel and went upstairs.  Left to himself, Mr. Hurst walked nervously up and down the room, and, catching sight of his face in the old-fashioned glass on the mantel-piece, heightened its colour by a few pinches.  The minutes seemed inter-minable, but at last he heard the steps of Mr. Mott on the stairs again.