She was feeling very wretched; it was the end of the month; in two days Louis, already nervy and restless, would get the month’s money, either by persuasion or force, and either vanish for a week or, coming home every night from Klondyke, reduce her to a state of inarticulate wretchedness.  She was on the point of losing hope entirely.  Sometimes it seemed to her that he drank deliberately now that the first flush of gratitude and love for her, the first zest of having a son, had worn off.  He lied until she was sickened of the sound of his stammering voice—­for never once did he lie without stammering.  If he had not struggled and been so pitiful she would have given up, then, and been content to take three weeks’ strained peace to one of blank horror.  But his despair when he came out of his hell goaded her to keep on hoping.

She was washing the cups out on the verandah.  Those of enamelled tin Andrew was trusted to carry indoors as she wiped them.  She heard a horse coming along in the distance and guessed that it was a delayed reveller from Klondyke as she saw a tall man whom she did not recognize make for the storm centre of things in the ballroom.  Clouds of dust and flour were eddying out of the door in a stream of light from the kerosene lamp.  He dismounted and stood in the haze for a moment.  Then he looked round in bewilderment and caught sight of her.  The gramophone was playing “Rock of Ages.”

“Can you tell me what is going on in there?  Is it St. Vitus’ Dance?”

Marcella looked at him and gave a little shout of laughter.

“No, it’s Mrs. Twist’s birthday.  Didn’t you know?”

“How could I?  Never heard of her.  I’m looking for Mrs. Farne.  They lent me this animal at Klondyke.  It seems days ago.  They said she knew the way blindfold.  They didn’t think to tell me she didn’t know it unless she was blindfold.”

Marcella laughed again, and knew who he was.

“If it hadn’t been for those fires I should never have got here.  But, perhaps you can tell me where Mrs. Farne lives?  They all seemed to know her at Klondyke.”

Marcella pointed towards the glowing gorse.

“That’s where I live.  I’m Marcella Farne,” she said.  “But why didn’t you say you were coming?  Mr. Twist would have fetched you in his buggy.  He loves meeting people at Cook’s Wall because he tries to convince them that it’s a real road he’s driving them along.  And it isn’t, you know.”

He sat down on the edge of the verandah, looking distastefully at the mare, who shook her head impatiently.  Marcella gave her water and let her wander, when she had taken off her saddle and bridle.

“Suppose you hadn’t been able to ride.  I didn’t think Professors had time for that sort of thing.”

“Neither did I till a few hours ago,” he said, with a short laugh, taking out a cigarette-case and offering it to her.  She sat down rather trustfully on a verandah rail Louis had carpentered.  Andrew stared at them both and made off silently towards the noise.  “But how did you know who I was?”