She knew the place. A sad group of dilapidated little houses forming three sides of a paved quadrangle, with a shattered fountain and withered trees in the centre. Ever since she could remember, they had stood there empty, ghostly, with creaking doors and broken windows, their gardens overgrown with weeds. “Bit of bad luck for both of us,” suggested Mr. Halliday.!

“I did not know that you had been an actor,” she answered. In answer the tears sprang to Joan’s eyes. She knelt down and put her arms about the woman.

“Oh, it’s only what’s known all over the neighbourhood,” continued the girl. “She’s had a pretty rough time with him. Twice I’ve found her getting ready to go to sleep for the night by sitting on the bare floor with her back against the wall. Had sold every stick in the place and gone off. But she’d always some excuse for him. It was sure to be half her fault and the other half he couldn’t help. Now she’s got her ‘reward’ according to her own account. Heard he was dying in a doss-house, and must fetch him home and nurse him back to life. Seems he’s getting fonder of her every day. Now that he can’t do anything else.” Again he looked at her with that odd, inquisitive expression. “She never got over it?” he asked. “I wish poor dear Sam could have been kept out of it,” said Flossie. She wiped her eyes and finished her tea.