About eight, she felt utterly exhausted, and turned into the first shop where she could get refreshment.

This was a confectioner’s.  The tea and dry biscuits she ordered enabled her to marshal her distracted thoughts into something approaching coherence; she realised that, as she was not going back to “Dawes’,” she must find a roof for the night.

She had several times called on her old friend Mrs Ellis; she decided to make for her house.  She asked her way to the nearest station, which was Notting Hill; here she took a ticket to Hammersmith and then walked to Kiva Street, where she knocked at the familiar door.  A powerful-looking man in corduroy trousers and shirt sleeves opened it.

“Mrs Ellis?” asked Mavis.

“’Orspital.”

“I’m very sorry.  What’s the matter with her?”

“Werry bad.”

“I wanted rooms.  I used to lodge here.”

At this piece of information the man made as if he would close the door.

“Can you tell me where I can get a room for the night?” asked Mavis.

The man by way of reply muttered something about the lady at the end of the row wanting a lodger.

“Which hospital is Mrs Ellis at?” asked Mavis.

By way of reply, the door was slammed in her face.  Mavis dragged her weary limbs to the end house in the row, where, in reply to her knock, a tall, pasty-faced, crossed-eyed woman, who carried an empty jug, answered the door.

“I thought you was Mrs Bonus,” remarked the woman.

“I want a room for the night.  I used to lodge with Mrs Ellis at number 20.”

“Did yer?  There!  I do know yer face.  Come inside.”

Mavis followed the landlady into a faded and formal little sitting-room, where the latter sat wearily in a chair, still clasping her jug.

“Can I have a room?” asked Mavis.

“I think so.  My name’s Bilkins.”

“Mine is Keeves.”

“That’s a funny name.  I ’ope you ain’t married.”

“No.”

“It’s only fools who get married.  You jest hear what Mrs Bonus says.”

“I’m very tired,” said Mavis.  “Can you give me anything to eat?”

“I’ve nothing in the ’ouse, but I’ll get you something when I go out.  And, if Mrs Bonus comes, ask her to wait, an’ say I’ve jes gone out to get a little Jacky.”

Mavis waited in the dark room of the deserted house.  Had she not been tired and heartsick, she would have been amused at this strange experience.  A quarter of an hour passed without anyone calling, when she heard the sound of a key in the latch, and Mrs Bilkins returned.

“No Mrs Bonus?”

“No one’s been.”

“It isn’t her washing day neither, though it would be late for a lady like ’er to be out all alone.  Drink this.”

“But it’s stout,” said Mavis, as Mrs Bilkins lit the gas.

“I call it jacky.  A glass will do you good.”