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she become excited over Charlie, because she had been brought up with him, played with him since they were babies. There was, it
    seemed, nothing exciting about Charlie. No, this was likely why the other one, whoever he was, appealed to her.
    "What street is it?"
    "It's ... it's called Clover Close."
    Clover Close. Her chin jerked up.
    "You know the number?"
    "I ... I think so. Seventeen."
    "You think so?"
    "I'm sure." The last words were almost a covered growl, and Lizzie answered in like manner, saying, "Well, how have you come by being so sure of the address? Have you been here?"
    "No, I haven't, but he wrote to me."
    "And you wrote back, I suppose?"
    "Yes, I did."
    Number seventeen was in the middle of a row of identical houses. They were ne wish and looked like a row of barracks. They stood before the door for a moment before Lizzie raised her hand and knocked.
    It was opened by a young girl of about Peggy's own age. She looked from one to the other, then glanced back down a short passage as she enquired "Yes?"
    "I am ... I am Mrs. Hammond. I would like to see your mother or father."
    "Hang on." The girl did not actually close the door but pushed it a little forward, and they heard her running down the passage.
    It was a full two minutes before the door was pulled open and a man in his shirt sleeves, black- haired and dark-eyed, aged about forty, looked at them, and he, too, said, "Yes?"
    Lizzie drew in a long breath before she said, "You are Mr. Jones, and I think you know why I'm here."
    "Come in." He pulled the door wide and they passed him, and as he closed the door behind them they waited, then followed him down the passage and into what appeared to be a kitchen- cum-living-room, for the table was set roughly for a meal.
    Besides the girl, there was a woman in the room and the man said, "This woman says we should know why she's here. Well, we didn't up till a few hours ago, did we?"
    The woman wagged her head now, saying, "No, we certainly didn't."
    "I told you last week, if you'd only listened," at which interruption, the woman turned around and half raised her hand to the girl, saying,
    "Shut your mouth! Minn."
    Not one of the three people was appealing to Lizzie. She wasn't
    class-conscious, she often told herself, but there were some and some and there were limits; and she would put these people just below the limit. Common was the word. But still there were many nice common people; in fact, she knew quite a few.
    The man now said, "Well, sit down; it'll cost you the same." And then he added, "And you, lass ... two for the price of one."
    Oh, so there was a joker here. Lizzie took her seat but it was some seconds before Peggy slowly lowered herself down into a chair some distance from the table, and she watched the man and woman now seating themselves. But the young girl remained standing near the fireplace, her hand outstretched towards the mantel as if for support. And yet she didn't appear like a girl who needed support; she looked perky.
    The man was staring hard at Peggy, and then he suddenly said to her,
    "So you say my lad's got you into trouble, do you? That's what it's all about, isn't it?" His tone was no longer jocular.
    Peggy stared back at him. She was unable to answer. Her throat was dry, her stomach was trembling. She had the desire to cry; at the same time she wanted to shout at him and say, "Yes, he did; but I don't want anything more to do with him." But her mother was answering for her, at least she was asking the question: "Has your son admitted to this?"
    "No; why should he?" It was the woman speaking now, and Lizzie quickly answered her: "Simply because, madam, he has given my daughter a child," she said.
    "We'll have less of the " madam"' the woman was nodding at her'I'm Mrs.
    Jones, if you please. And what if he says he hasn't been with her? It could be anybody; there's been others after her. There's a lad next door, I understand."
    "Nonsense! They are like brother and sister; they were