The ‘of course’ puzzled Monica for a moment, but she remembered that it was an unmeaning expletive much used by people of Miss Eade’s education.  However, the story did not win her credence; by this time her disagreeable surmises had too much support.

‘Was there anything you wished particularly to speak about?’

‘You haven’t seen nothing of Mr. Bullivant?’

To what a remote period of her life this name seemed to recall Monica!  She glanced quickly at the speaker, and again detected suspicion in her eyes.

’I have neither seen nor heard of him since I left Walworth Road.  Isn’t he still there?’

’Not he.  He went about the same time you did, and nobody knew where he hid himself.’

‘Hid?  Why should he hide?’

’I only mean he got out of sight somewheres.  I thought perhaps you might have come across him.’

’No, I haven’t.  Now I must say good-bye.  That lady is waiting for me.’

Miss Eade nodded, but immediately altered her mind and checked Monica as she was turning away.

‘You wouldn’t mind telling me what your married name may be?’

‘That really doesn’t concern you, Miss Eade,’ replied the other stiffly.  ‘I must go—­’

’If you don’t tell me, I’ll follow you till I find out, and chance it!’

The change from tolerable civility to coarse insolence was so sudden that Monica stood in astonishment.  There was unconcealed malignity in the gaze fixed upon her.

‘What do you mean?  What interest have you in learning my name?’

The girl brought her face near, and snarled in the true voice of the pavement—­

‘Is it a name as you’re ashamed to let out?’

Monica walked away to the bookstall.  When she had joined her sister, she became aware that Miss Eade was keeping her in sight.

‘Let us buy a book,’ she said, ’and go home again.  The rain won’t stop.’

They selected a cheap volume, and, having their return tickets, moved towards the departure platform.  Before she could reach the gates Monica heard Miss Eade’s voice just behind her; it had changed again, and the appealing note reminded her of many conversations in Walworth Road.

‘Do tell me!  I beg your pardon for bein’ rude.  Don’t go without telling me.’

The meaning of this importunity had already flashed upon Monica, and now she felt a slight pity for the tawdry, abandoned creature, in whom there seemed to survive that hopeless passion of old days.

‘My name,’ she said abruptly, ‘is Mrs. Widdowson.’

‘Are you telling me the truth?’

‘I have told you what you wish to know.  I can’t talk—­’

‘And you don’t really know nothing about him?’

‘Nothing whatever.’

Miss Eade moved sullenly away, not more than half convinced.  Long after Monica’s disappearance she strayed about the platform and the approaches to the station.  Her brother was slow in arriving.  Once or twice she held casual colloquy with men who also stood waiting—­ perchance for their sisters; and ultimately one of these was kind enough to offer her refreshment, which she graciously accepted.  Rhoda Nunn would have classed her and mused about her:  a not unimportant type of the odd woman.