Small need to bellow. Around the staircase corner three white-capped heads--Kate holding back Susan, Susan restraining Jane, Jane holding Kate--had been with delighted eyes and straining ears bathing in this rare scene. With glad unanimity they broke their restraint one upon the other; crushed pell-mell, hustling up the narrow stairs.

Mrs. Chater plumped back into a chair; with huge hands fanned her heated face. "Fetch a policeman!"

They plunged for the door.

Bob's swollen countenance came over the banisters. He roared "Stop!"

Kate, Jane and Susan swung between the conflicting authorities.

"Call a policeman! Summon a constable! Fetch an officer!" In gusty breaths from behind Mrs. Chater's hands, working like a red paddle- wheel, came the commands.

"Stop!" roared Bob; and to enforce pushed forward the battered face till it stuck out flat over the hall.

His alarmed mother screamed: "Bob, you'll fall over the banisters!"

The two kept up a battledore and shuttlec.o.c.k of agitated conversation.

"Well, stop those women!" Bob cried; "for G.o.d's sake, stop them, mother! What on earth are you thinking of?"

"I'll give her in charge!"

"You can't, you can't. Oh, my G.o.d, what a house this is!"

"She called me a liar!"

"You can't charge her for that."

"She half murdered you!"

"She never touched me. Why don't you do as I told you? Why don't you send her away?"

"Mercy, Bob! you'll fall and kill yourself!"

"Do as I say, then! Do as I say!"

"Well, put back your head! Put back your head."

"Do as I say, then!"

Mrs. Chater stopped the paddle-wheel; rose to her feet. Bob's ghastly face drew in to safer limits. She addressed Mary: "Again my boy has interceded for you. Oh, how you must feel!" She addressed the maids: "Is her box packed?"

They chorused "Yes"; pointed, and Mary saw her tin box, corded, set against the wall.

"Call a cab," Mrs. Chater commanded; and as the whistle blew she turned again upon Mary.

"Now, miss, you may go. I pack you off as you deserve. But before you go--"

The battered face shot out again above the banisters: "Pay her her wages and send her away, mother. Do, for goodness' sake, send her away!"

"Wages! Certainly not! Mercy! Your head again! Go back, Bob!"

The maddened, pain-racked Bob bellowed: "Oh, stop it! stop it! I shall go mad in a minute. She is ent.i.tled to her wages. Pay her."

"I won't!"

"Well, I will. Susan! Susan, come up here and take this money. How much is it?"

"She is not to be paid," Mrs. Chater trumpeted.

"She is to be paid," bawled her son. "Do you want an action brought against you? Oh, my G.o.d, what a house this is!"

"My boy! You will fall! Very well, I'll pay her." Mrs. Chater turned to Mary. "Again and yet again my son intercedes for you, miss. Oh, how you must feel!" She grabbed around her dress for her pocket; found a purse; produced coins; banged them upon the table. "There!"

And now my Mary, who had stood upright breasting these successive surges, spoke her little fury.

With a hand she swept the table, sending the coins flying this way and that--with them a card salver, a vase, a pile of prayer-books. With her little foot she banged the floor.

"I would not touch your money--your beastly money. You are contemptible and vulgar, and I despise you. Mr. Chater, if you are a man you will tell your mother why you were thrashed. Do you dare to say you interfered because you found me with someone? Do you dare?"

With masterly strategy Bob drove home a flank attack. To have affirmed he did dare might lead to appalling outburst from this little vixen.

He said very quietly, as though moved by pity: "Please do not make matters worse by bl.u.s.tering, Miss Humfray." He sighed: "I bear you no ill-will."

My poor Mary allowed herself to be denuded of self-possession. His words put her control to flight; left her exposed. Tears started in her eyes. She made a little rush for the stairs. "Oh, you coward!" she cried. "You coward! I will make you say the truth."

Would she have clutched the skirts of his dressing-gown, forgetting the proper modesty of a nice maiden, and dragged him down the stairs?

Would she indelicately have pursued him to his very bedroom, and there, regardless of his scanty dress, have a.s.saulted him?

Bob believed she would. It is so easy for the world's heroines to remain calm against attack. My Mary was made of commoner stuff--the wretched, baser clay of which not I, but my neighbours, not you, but your acquaintances, are made.

Bob believed she would. He cried, "Send her away! Why the devil don't you send her away?"; gathered his skirts; fled for the safety of a locked door.

Mrs. Chater believed she would. Mrs. Chater plunged across the hall; stood, an impa.s.sable and panting guardian, upon the lowermost step.

Her outstretched arm stayed Mary; a voice announced, "The cab'm."

My Mary stood a moment; little fists clenched, flashing eyes; blinked against the premonition of a rush of tears; then, as they came, turned for the door.

"Go!" trumpeted Mrs. Chater. "Go!"

Mary was upon the mat when Angela and David made a little rush; caught her skirts. The alarming scenes had hurtled in sequence too rapid and too violent to be by the children understood. But a sc.r.a.p here and a sc.r.a.p there they had caught, retained, correctly interpreted; and the whole, though it supplied no reason, told clearly that their adored Mary was going from them.

"You're coming back soon, aren't you?" David cried.

"You're not going away, are you, Miss Humf'ay?" implored Angela.

Mrs. Chater shrilled: "Children, come away. Come here at once."

Mary dropped one knee upon the mat; caught her arms about the children. She pressed a cool face against each side her wet and burning countenance, gave kisses, and upon the added stress of this new emotion choked: "Good-bye, little ducklings!"