“Dick’s boots!” he said, tapping them with his cane, and looking round at his sister.  “What a lot of wear I’ve got out of them since he threw them away!  His overcoat, too.  And now that it’s the thing to be shabby, Dick’s clothes are really a godsend.  I defraud Jones.  But I have no doubt that Jones gets a good deal more than is good for him.”

“Look here, Roger!—­suppose you stop talking this nonsense and come to business,” said Marianne Winton, in pale exasperation.  “I’ve sent Jones out with a note—­but he’ll be back directly.  And I’ve got an appointment.  What are you doing?  Have you got any work to do?”

She took a seat not far from her brother, who perceived from her tone that he had perhaps gone as far as was prudent.

“Oh, dear, no, I’ve got no work to do,” he said, smiling.  “That’s not a commodity that comes my way.  But I must somehow manage to keep a roof over Anita and the child.  So what can I do but count on your assistance, my dear?  My father left you a great deal of money which in equity belonged to me—­and I am bound to remind you of it.”

“You know very well why he left you so little!” said Lady Winton.  “We needn’t go into that old story.  I ask you again, what do you want?” She took out her watch.  “I have just ten minutes.”

“What do I want?” He looked at her with a slow, whimsical laugh.  “Money, my dear, money!  Money means everything that I must have—­food, coals, clothes, doctor, chemist, buses—­decent houseroom for Anita and myself—­”

A shiver of revulsion ran through his sister.

“Have you married that woman?”

He laughed.

“As you seemed to think it desirable, Anita and I did take a trip to a Registry Office about a month ago.  It’s all lawful now—­except for our abominable English law that doesn’t legitimize the children.  But”—­he sprang to his feet with a movement which startled her—­“whom do you think I’ve seen lately?”

His sister stared at him, amazed at the change in him—­the animation, the rush of colour in the hollow, emaciated face.

“Rachel!—­my wife—­my former—­precious—­wife.  I thought she was in Canada.  No doubt she thought the same of me.  But I’ve stumbled upon her quite by chance—­living close to the place where I had taken lodgings for Anita and the babe, in September, in case there were more raids this winter.  What do you think of that?”

“It doesn’t interest me at all,” said Lady Winton coldly.

“Then you have no dramatic sense, my dear.  Just think!  I stroll out, for want of anything better to do, with Anita, into the market-place of a beastly little country town, to see a silly sort of show—­a mixture of a Harvest Festival and a Land Girls’ beano—­when without a moment’s warning—­standing up in a decorated wagon—­I behold—­Rachel!—­handsomer than ever!—­in a kind of khaki dress—­tunic, breeches, and leggings—­enormously becoming!—­and, of course, the observed of all observers.  More than that!—­I perceive a young man, in an American uniform, dancing attendance upon her—­taking her orders—­walking her off to church—­Oh, a perfectly clear case!—­no doubt about it at all.  And there I stood—­within a few yards of her—­and she never saw me!”