“I’ll open the window,” said George heartily.  He rose, pulled the curtains, and opened the front French window with a large gesture.  The wild, raw, damp air of Sunday night rushed in from the nocturnal Grove, and instantly extinguished the lamp.

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Haim, rather nervously.

“Saved me the trouble,” said George.

As he emerged after Mr. Haim from the dark room, he was thinking that it was ridiculous not to have electricity, and that he must try to come to some arrangement with Mr. Haim for the installation of electricity.  Fancy oil-lamps in the middle of London in the twentieth century!  Shocks were waiting in George’s mind for Mr. Haim.  He intended, if he could, to get the room on the first floor, empty since the departure of Marguerite, and to use it for a bedroom, while keeping the ground-floor room exclusively for work and society.  His project would involve shocks also for Mr. Edwin Clayhanger in the Five Towns, who would be called upon to pay; but George had an airy confidence in the ability of his stepfather to meet such shocks in a satisfactory manner.

To George’s surprise, Mr. Alfred Prince was in the sitting-room.  Shabby and creased as usual, he looked far more like a clerk in some establishment where clerks were not morally compelled to imitate dandies than like an etcher of European renown.  But, also as usual, he was quietly at ease and conversational; and George at once divined that he had been invited with the object of relieving the social situation created by the presence of the brilliant young lodger at tea.  This tea was the first meal to be taken by George with Mr. and Mrs. Haim, for he was almost never at home on Sunday afternoons, and he was not expected to be at home.  The table showed, as Mr. Haim’s nervousness had shown, that the importance of the occasion had been realized.  It was an obviously elaborate table.  The repast was ready in every detail; the teapot was under the cosy; the cover was over the hot crumpets; Mrs. Haim alone lacked.

“Where’s missus?” asked George lightly.  Mr. Haim had not come into the room.

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Prince.  “She brought the tea in a minute ago.  You been working this afternoon?”

At that moment Mr. Haim entered.  He said: 

“Mrs. Haim isn’t feeling very well.  She’s upstairs.  She says she’s sure she’ll be all right in a little while.  In the meantime she prefers us to go on with our tea.”

Mr. Prince and Mr. Haim looked at each other, and George looked at Mr. Haim.  The older men showed apprehension.  The strange idea of unconquerable destiny crossed George’s mind—­destiny clashing ruthlessly with ambition and desire.  The three males sat down in obedience to the wish of the woman who had hidden herself in the room above.  All of them were dominated by the thought of her.  They did not want to sit down and eat and drink, and they were obliged to do so by the invisible volitional