Barthwick.  I see; four days a week, and you get half a crown a day, is that it?

Mrs. Jones.  Yes, sir, and my dinner; but sometimes it’s only half a day, and that’s eighteen pence.

Barthwick.  And when your husband earns anything he spends it in drink, I suppose?

Mrs. Jones.  Sometimes he does, sir, and sometimes he gives it to me for the children.  Of course he would work if he could get it, sir, but it seems there are a great many people out of work.

Barthwick.  Ah!  Yes.  We—­er—­won’t go into that. [Sympathetically.] And how about your work here?  Do you find it hard?

Mrs. Jones.  Oh! no, sir, not very hard, sir; except of course, when I don’t get my sleep at night.

Barthwick.  Ah!  And you help do all the rooms?  And sometimes, I suppose, you go out for cook?

Mrs. Jones.  Yes, Sir.

Barthwick.  And you ’ve been out this morning?

Mrs. Jones.  Yes, sir, of course I had to go to the greengrocer’s.

Barthwick.  Exactly.  So your husband earns nothing?  And he’s a bad character.

Mrs. Jones.  No, Sir, I don’t say that, sir.  I think there’s a great deal of good in him; though he does treat me very bad sometimes.  And of course I don’t like to leave him, but I think I ought to, because really I hardly know how to stay with him.  He often raises his hand to me.  Not long ago he gave me a blow here [touches her breast] and I can feel it now.  So I think I ought to leave him, don’t you, sir?

Barthwick.  Ah!  I can’t help you there.  It’s a very serious thing to leave your husband.  Very serious thing.

Mrs. Jones.  Yes, sir, of course I ’m afraid of what he might do to me if I were to leave him; he can be so very violent.

Barthwick.  H’m!  Well, that I can’t pretend to say anything about.  It’s the bad principle I’m speaking of——­

Mrs. Jones.  Yes, Sir; I know nobody can help me.  I know I must decide for myself, and of course I know that he has a very hard life.  And he’s fond of the children, and its very hard for him to see them going without food.

Barthwick. [Hastily.] Well—­er—­thank you, I just wanted to hear about you.  I don’t think I need detain you any longer, Mrs. Jones.

Mrs. Jones.  No, sir, thank you, sir.

Barthwick.  Good morning, then.

Mrs. Jones.  Good morning, sir; good morning, ma’am.

Barthwick. [Exchanging glances with his wife.] By the way, Mrs. Jones—­I think it is only fair to tell you, a silver cigarette-box —­er—­is missing.

Mrs. Jones. [Looking from one face to the other.] I am very sorry, sir.

Barthwick.  Yes; you have not seen it, I suppose?