"Well, Elsie, I'm sure I'm much obliged to you. I can finish myself. Don't you stay a minute longer."
"No, 'm," said Elsie, who had exchanged three hours' overtime for sixpence and a slice of ham.
At this moment, and before Elsie had raised her damp knees from the damp floor, a very sharp and imperious tapping was heard.
"My gracious! Who's that?"
"It's the shop door," said Elsie.
"I'll go." Mrs. Arb decided the procedure quite cheerfully. She was cheerful because the living-room, with other rooms, was done, and in a condition fit to be seen by possible purchasers of her premises and business; she had no intention to live in the living-room herself. And also she was cheerful because of a wild and silly, and yet not wholly silly, idea that the rapping at the shop door came from Mr. Earlforward, who had made for himself some absurd man-like excuse for calling again that night. She had, even thus early, her notions about Mr. Earlforward. The undying girl in her ran downstairs with a candle and unlocked the shop door. As she opened it a man pushed forward roughly into the shop—not Mr. Earlforward; a young man with a dangerous look in his burning eyes, and gestures indicating dark excitement.
"What do you want?" she demanded, trying to control the situation firmly and not succeeding.
The young man glanced at her. She perceived that he carried a torn umbrella and that his clothes were very wet. She heard the heavy rain outside.
"You can't come in here at this time of night," she added. "The shop's closed."
She gave a sign for him to depart. She actually began to force him out; mere temerity on her part. She thought: