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"I won't be a moment," she promised. "Don't be cross, there's a dear, Matthew. I'm so glad we're going out."

She crossed the room as lightly and gracefully as ever, and he heard the door of her own little chamber close behind her. He walked up and down the room with his hands in his pockets, picked up the account book again, looked through it with renewed care, and threw it back on the table with a gesture of irritation. Then he glanced at the scrap of paper which Rosina had left for Philip, and read her message:

Philip, dear, I am going out to have some dinner with Matthew. He is very hungry and doesn't want to wait. You won't mind, will you? I'm afraid I have been extravagant this week and there's only a shilling to spare.

We'll be back soon and I'll try and get some coffee.

Love, dear,

from

Rosina.

He replaced the note with a frown. Rosina returned, a moment or two later, humming a gay tune and buttoning some very much darned gloves. She was wearing the grey costume in which she had travelled up to London in the early summer months. Matthew looked at her critically.