As Lucy opened the door, however, a movement of anxiety, of conscience, rose in Dora.
'Oh, no,' said Lucy, impatiently. 'I know what's what, thank you, Dora. I'll take care of myself. Perhaps I'll come back and tell you what he says.'
And she closed the door behind her. Dora did not move from her work; but her hand trembled so that she made several false stitches and had to undo them.
Meanwhile Lucy sped along across Market Street and through St. Ann's Square. Her blood was up, and she could have done anything, braved anybody, to defeat her father and win a smile from David Grieve. Yet, as she entered Potter Street, she began to quake a little. The street was narrow and dark. On one side the older houses had been long ago pulled down and replaced by tall warehouses, which at night were a black and towering mass, without a light anywhere. The few shops opposite closed early, for in the office quarter of Manchester there is very little doing after office hours, when the tide of life ebbs outwards.
Lucy looked for No. 15, her heart beating fast. There was a light in the first floor, but the shop-front was altogether dark. She crossed the street, and, lifting a shaking hand, rang the bell of the very narrow side door.
Instantly there were sounds inside--a step--and David stood on the threshold.
He stared in amazement at his unwonted visitor.
'Oh, Mr. Grieve--please--I've got something to tell you. Oh, no, I won't come in--we can stand here, please, out of the wind. But father's going to buy this place over your head, and I thought I'd better come and tell you. He'll be pretty mad if he thinks I've let out; but I don't care.'
She was leaning against the wall of the passage, and David could just see the defiance and agitation on her face by the light of the gas-lamp outside.
'Well, that's rather strong, isn't it, Miss Purcell?'
'It's mean--it's abominable,' she cried. 'I vowed I'd stop it. But I don't know what he'll do to me--kill me, most likely.'
'Nobody shall do anything to you,' said David, decidedly. 'You're a brick. But look here--can you tell me anything more?'
She commanded herself with great difficulty, and told all she knew. David leant against the wall beside her, twisting a meditative lip. The situation was ominous, certainly. He had always known that his tenure was precarious, but from various indications he had supposed that it would be some years yet before his side of the street was much meddled with. That old fox! He must go and see Mr. Ancrum.