‘No, of course you don’t,’ pursued her mother bitterly.  ’It’s the money as prevents you from seeing it.  Them as was good enough for you before you haven’t a word to say to now; a man as works honestly for his living you make no account of.  Well, well, you must go your own way—­’

’What is it you want, mother?  You don’t expect me to look no higher than when I hadn’t a penny but what I worked for?  I’ve no patience with you.  You ought to be glad—­’

’You haven’t no patience, of course you haven’t.  And I’m to be glad when a son of mine does things as he deserves to be sent to prison for!  I don’t understand that kind o’ gladness.  But mind what I say; do what you like with your money, I’ll have no more part in it.  If I had as much as ten shillings a week of my own, I’d go and live by myself, and leave you to take your own way.  But I tell you what I can do, and what I will.  I’ll have no more servants a-waitin’ on me; I wasn’t never used to it, and I’m too old to begin.  I go to my own bedroom upstairs, and there I live, and there ’ll be nobody go into that room but myself.  I’ll get my bits o’ meals from the kitchen.  ‘Tain’t much as I want, thank goodness, an’ it won’t be missed.  I’ll have no more doin’s with servants, understand that; an’ if I can’t be left alone i’ my own room, I’ll go an’ find a room where I can, an’ I’ll find some way of earnin’ what little I want.  It’s your own house, and you’ll do what you like in it.  There’s the keys, I’ve done with ’em; an’ here’s the money too, I’m glad to be rid of it.  An’ you’ll just tell Dick.  I ain’t one as says what I don’t mean, nor never was, as that you know.  You take your way, an’ I’ll take mine.  An’ now may be I’ll get a night’s sleep, the first I’ve had under this roof.’

As she spoke she took from her pockets the house keys, and from her purse the money she used for current expenses, and threw all together on to the table.  Alice had turned to the fireplace, and she stood so for a long time after her mother had left the room.  Then she took the keys and the money, consulted her watch, and in a few minutes was walking from the house to a neighbouring cab-stand.

She drove to Wilton Square.  Inspecting the front of the house before knocking at the door, she saw a light in the kitchen and a dimmer gleam at an upper window.  It was Mrs. Clay who opened to her.

‘Is Emma in?’ Alice inquired as she shook hands rather coldly.

’She’s sitting with Jane.  I’ll tell her.  There’s no fire except in the kitchen,’ Kate added, in a tone which implied that doubtless her visitor was above taking a seat downstairs.

‘I’ll go down,’ Alice replied, with just a touch of condescension.  ‘I want to speak a word or two with Emma, that’s all.’