Howat Penny left Mariana at the door, and went in with Polder.  Provost was seated, with an open paper; Kingsfrere studying the photograph of Scalchi.  “This,” said Howat generally, “is my guest, James Polder.”  Peter Provost extended his square, powerful hand; but the other, Jannan, made no movement.  “Well?” Polder demanded aggressively.  Howat Penny proceeded through the room to the porch, where he met Mariana.  They walked to the further end and found chairs.  “What makes me sick,” Mariana proceeded, “is the way men calmly take everything into their own hands; as if women were still tied up, naughty bundles.  Jim will have all the fun, and he has only said ‘no’ in horrified tones.”

Again he could think of no adequate reply.  He listened in vain for the sound of raised voices within.  “What, in heaven’s name, brought them?” Howat told her what he had heard.  “I’m glad I did break up that mess they called a home,” she asserted.  “It was rotten with stale beer and half pounds of liver for that disgusting animal!”

The heat increased in waves; a wagon passing on the road below was enveloped in a cloud of dust.  “I wish they’d hurry,” Mariana said sharply.  Howat Penny thought he heard Kingsfrere speaking in abrupt periods.  Then a chair scraped, and Peter Provost’s deliberate voice became audible.  It was, however, impossible to distinguish his words; but suddenly Polder exclaimed, “Say something I can pound into you.”  Mariana rose, her hands clenched.  “Go back to your mouldy little life!” James Polder continued.  “I’m not surprised Miss Jannan wants to get out of it.  I am sorry I hesitated.  It seemed to me I couldn’t offer her anything good enough; but that was before I’d listened to you....  And if you in particular come worming about me again I’ll smash your flat face.”  The screen door was wrenched violently open, and James Polder strode up to Mariana.  “Suppose we get out of this slag pit,” he said, his chest labouring; “I can’t breathe here.”

“I am ready, Jimmy,” she replied quietly; “perhaps Howat will look up a train and let Honduras drive us to the station.”  She laid her hand on his arm.  “Now we can forget them,” she said.  They turned, and, together, vanished into the house.  Howat Penny followed them slowly.  He found Peter Provost apparently undisturbed.  “Nothing to be done,” the latter commented.  “I saw that immediately he turned up.  Kingsfrere made a short effort, but it wasn’t conspicuously successful; I imagine it rather worse than failed.  God knows what’s getting into these young women, Howat—­Eliza and the rest of ’em—­it’s a gamble they don’t.  All right, Kingsfrere.”  Jannan lingered with a dark mutter, but the other unceremoniously drove him into the waiting car.

Mariana soon descended, with Polder carrying two bags.  “One seven,” Howat told them.  In the extraordinary situation he found nothing adequate to say.  Mariana might have been going unremarkably to Charlotte and her home; she was absolutely contained.  James Polder had a dazed expression; without his companion, Howat thought, he would blunder into the walls.  He stood, holding the bags until told to put them down.  Honduras was soon at the door.  Mariana moved forward, and mechanically Howat Penny made his customary pretence of avoiding her kiss.  The warm fragrance of her lips remained long after she had gone.