could find no words to clamour her revolt.

“If you think you're going dancin' off to th' other side of London, you're mistaken.”

“Why not?” she cried, at once hard fixed in her will to go.

“That's why not,” he said.

And there was silence till Mrs. Brangwen came downstairs.

“Look here, Anna,” he said, handing her the letter.

She put back her head, seeing a typewritten letter, anticipating trouble from the outside world. There was the curious, sliding motion of her eyes, as if she shut off her sentient, maternal self, and a kind of hard trance, meaningless, took its place. Thus, meaningless, she glanced