5

THEIR meeting that night was a tempestuous one. Albinus had stayed at home all day because he was in a panic that she might ring up again. When she emerged from the “Argus” he greeted her incontinently with:

“Look here, child, I forbid you to ring me up. It won’t do. If I did not give you my name, I had my reasons for it.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I’m through with you,” said Margot blandly, and walked away.

He stood there and stared after her helplessly.

What an ass he was! He ought to have held his tongue; then she’d have fancied she had made a mistake, after all. Albinus overtook her and walked along by her side.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Don’t be cross with me, Margot. I can’t live without you. Look here, I’ve thought it all over. Drop your job. I’m rich. You shall have your own room, your own flat, anything you like …”

“You’re a liar, a coward and a fool,” said Margot (summing him up rather neatly). “And you’re married—that’s why you hide that ring in your mackintosh pocket. Oh, of course, you’re married; else you wouldn’t have been so rude on the ’phone.”

“And if I am?” he asked. “Won’t you meet me any more?”

“What does it matter to me? Deceive her; it’ll do her good.”

“Margot, stop,” groaned Albinus.

“Leave me alone.”

“Margot, listen to me. It is true, I have a family, but please, please, stop jeering about it … Oh, don’t go away,” he cried, catching her, missing her, clutching at her shabby little handbag.

“Go to hell!” she shouted, and banged the door in his face.