He passed out, followed by Weavel.  Graveling only lingered upon the threshold.  He was looking towards Julia.

“Miss Thurnbrein,” he said, “can I have a word with you?”

“You cannot,” she replied steadily.

He remained there, dogged, full of suppressed wrath.  The sight of her taking her place before the typewriter seemed to madden him.  Already she was the better for the change of work and surroundings, for the improved conditions of her daily life.  There was the promise of colour in her cheeks.  Her plain black gown was as simple as ever, but her hair was arranged with care, and she carried herself with a new distinction, born of her immense contentment.  Her supercilious attitude attracted while it infuriated him.

“It’s only a word I want,” he persisted.  “I have a right to some sort of civility, at any rate.”

“You have no rights at all,” she retorted.  “I thought that we had finished with that the last time we spoke together.”

“I want to know,” he went on obstinately, “why you haven’t been to work lately?”

“Because I have left Weinberg’s,” she told him curtly.  “It is no business of yours, but if it will help to get rid of you—­”

“Left Weinberg’s,” he repeated.  “Got another job, eh?”

“I am Mr. Maraton’s assistant secretary,” she announced.

His face for a moment was almost distorted with anger.

“You’re living here—­under this roof?” he demanded.

“It is no concern of yours where or how I am living,” she answered.

“That’s a lie!” Graveling exclaimed furiously.  “You’re my girl.  I’ve hung around after you for six years.  I’ve known you since you were a child.  I’ll be d—­d if I’ll be thrown on one side now and see you become another man’s mistress—­especially his!”

He came a step further into the room.  Maraton, who had been standing with his back to them, arranging some papers on his desk, turned slowly around.  Graveling was advancing towards him with the air of a bully.

“Do you hear—­you—­Maraton?” he cried.  “I’ve had enough of you!  You can flout us all at our work, if you like, but you go a bit too far when you think to make a plaything of my girl.  Do you hear that?”

“Perfectly,” Maraton replied.

“And what have you got to say about it?”

Maraton shrugged his shoulders slightly.

“I don’t know that I have anything particular to say about it.  If it interests you to be told my opinion of you, you are welcome to hear it.”

Graveling advanced a step nearer still.  His fists were clenched, an ugly scowl had parted his lips.  Julia came swiftly from her seat.  Her eyes were filled with fury.  She faced Graveling.

“Richard Graveling,” she exclaimed, “I am ashamed to think that I ever let you call yourself my friend!  If you do not leave the room and the house at once, I swear that I will never speak to you again as long as I live!”