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He wrenched the wallet free and tore a few banknotes from its interior.

“Thank you,” replied Patricia calmly, holding out her hand. “Does that mean I am free to go now?”

Mr. Ezekiel calmed down abruptly. He cared to part neither with the extra week’s salary nor Patricia Weybourn. He changed front with the easy facility of his people.

“Now, look here, Pat,” he pleaded, spreading his hands in conciliation and smiling pathetically. “We don’t quarrel, you and me. Not after all these years. Don’t you mind my temper, my dear. You know what I’m like. We can fix this face-slapping, eh? Of course, we can.”

Patricia held her hand extended for the money.

“Please,” she said coldly. “You have discharged me before witnesses———”

“Pat———”

“Miss Weybourn, if you please, Mr. Ezekiel.”

Mr. Ezekiel stared at the girl keenly for a second, then he shrugged and gave her the money.

“Very well, Miss Weybourn,” he snapped, “if that’s the way you feel about it. You’re sacked, and I pay you before witnesses. Good-bye! You are not the kind of woman I want in charge of my branches. I should have known better.”

He turned away sharply, but Patricia stayed him with a compelling grip on his arm.

“For the last two days this virtuous committee has treated me as though I were a woman of the streets,” she said, in a voice ominously quiet. “What do you think, Mr. Ezekiel?”

“Is it my place to think?” retorted Mr. Ezekiel, wrenching his arm free. “You know what you are better than I can tell you. Does it matter to me whether you live by yourself or with somebody else’s husband? Does it matter to me if you get home at daylight, like you did Wednesday, eh? No! But it matters to my business!”