She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. " "Oh!" exclaimed the widow, covering her face with her hands. There was another phrase which sounded something like 'Gin in a blue-serge coat'. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. She was perplexed by this, and stood for some seconds in the empty street hesitating, until the appearance of another circumspect woman under the street lamp at the corner reassured her. ’ Joan nodded, her face still averted.
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