July, that theatrical close season, was wearing itself out. Alexandra
subsisted on the small quarterly dividend that a grateful country
bestows in the way of pension on the orphaned children of the men who
fight its battles. She sweltered in her one room or else sat in the
deserted ones of theatrical agencies waiting for an engagement that
never came.
One sultry afternoon, on turning into Sidey Street, she found, standing
opposite her door, a brand-new landaulette. In her prosperous days she
had learnt to distinguish between the makes of cars, and a glance showed
her that this one belonged to a type that was just then being widely
advertised at a popular price. But it was neither its shape nor finish,
nor even the bright coloring of its paintwork that attracted her
attention so much as the large monogram composed of an M. and a D. in
the center of its door-panel. The world might contain a thousand other
people with those initials, but M. D. on an empty car outside
Alexandra's door meant that Maggy was inside the house, waiting for her.
Her heart beat fast and she went in. There would be a visible
difference in Maggy. Their girlish friendship was a closed chapter.
Maggy had left her. The hurt still rankled. She felt nervous. It
would be like greeting a stranger; worse, it would be meeting as a
stranger one with whom she had shared a close intimacy. There would be
awkwardness....
Maggy, waiting for her, felt equally nervous. She had struggled against
the desire to see Alexandra again, but it had grown too strong for her.
She yearned for her. She wanted to tell her that she had not deserted
her, that she could still be as true a friend as ever. Suppose
Alexandra were so intolerant of what she had done that she would not
even let her stay a minute! Perhaps she would refuse to speak, or worse
still, and this was more likely, she might pretend hard that her
feelings had not changed so that she, Maggy, might not feel hurt, and
Maggy would know she was pretending. She began to wish she had not
come.
Looking round the little room it seemed difficult to believe that she
had really left it. Only the expensive frock she was wearing, a peep
through the curtains at the new toy that she liked to drive about in,
assured her that she had. Then she noticed that her bed was gone. That
was even more conclusive evidence of the domestic rupture than the
expensive frock and the car. And yet Alexandra had her photograph on
the mantel-piece. That cheered her.
During one of her periodical peeps at the window she saw Alexandra
walking down the street. A panicy feeling assailed her. She peeped
again and noticed how slowly she was coming along, how listless was her
step. She looked tired, frail. Maggy's warm heart gave a compassionate
thump. Her nervousness increased as she heard Alexandra mounting the
stairs. What should she say to start with? "I was passing, and I
thought I'd look in?" That would sound casual, forced. Or "I hope you
don't mind my coming to see you." That would be groveling. Should she
wait for Alexandra to speak first? Suppose she should say something
cold and cutting, final? Suppose she just stood still, waiting for Maggy
to speak? And how long might they not stand looking at each other like
that, without saying a word....
Alexandra opened the door and Maggy faced round, her breast rising and
falling.
Unrehearsed words bubbled from her heart.
"Oh, Lexie, I'm just the same. Won't you be?"
"Maggy, dear!"
Choking with emotion and gladness, they found they were holding hands
tightly, as if they could never let go. Big tears welled up in Maggy's
eyes.
"It doesn't alter one a bit," she got out huskily.
They sat down on the bed, close together, for a moment or two dumb with
congestion of thought--the numberless things, essentials affecting
themselves, that needed asking and answering.
"Are you happy, Maggy?"
"Don't I look it?" She irradiated happiness. Her eyes beamed, her lips
laughed. "I love him, Lexie. It's lovely to love a man whatever way
love comes to you. He can't give me the brown egg at breakfast because
he's not there then, but I feel just as--oh, you know! I'm not really
_bad_, Lexie. There isn't another man in the world for me. Tell me
about yourself, darling. Have you got anything to do yet?"
"No. I'm beginning to wonder whether I ever shall. I can't see
anything ahead. It's black."
"Your stomach's empty," said Maggy prosaically. "You look as if you've
lived on nothing for ten days."
"I've lived on four-and-sixpence a week."
"Oh, Lexie! And I've had caviare and plovers' eggs and all sorts of
expensive things while you've been starving!" She looked horribly
contrite. "Do you know that picture advertisement with a big fat cat
talking to a thin miserable one and saying it had been fed on somebody's
milk? I'm the fat cat because I'm being kept by--"
"Don't!" said Alexandra.
"I'm sorry. I forgot. Fred encourages me to be downright. Don't take
the pins out of your hat. Look here, Lexie. Do me a favor and come out
with me sometimes. Come now! When Fred's not around I'm at a loose end,
and it's lonely. I get tired of mooching round the shops and only
buying things for myself. The day would go faster if I could lie in bed
half the morning, but I'm so beastly energetic. I'm awake at seven and
thinking of eggs and bacon. I would like to show you my flat. Would
you mind coming to see it? There's no one there, only me."
She saw Alexandra hesitate.
"It's such a duck of a flat," she went on. "I haven't got any one to
show it to. Dozens of times I've said to myself: if only Lexie could
see this or that.... You needn't approve of me, but do come! We can
have an early dinner before I go to the theater."
"But what about--"
"Fred's never there at that time. We generally lunch out and then I
don't see him till after the show."
On Maggy's left hand Alexandra noticed the gleam of a wedding ring.
Maggy, following her glance, smiled contentedly. For the moment it
occurred to Alexandra that perhaps Maggy was really married after all.
She asked the question.
"No," was the regretful reply. "But I often forget I'm not. There's
not much difference when you're fond of a man. You get to love him so
much that you don't feel the law could bring you any closer. All the
same I'd like to be married to him really. I'd like to look after his
clothes, and keep his things tidy--and have his children." She flushed
and got up rather hurriedly. "Ready? Come along!"
In the narrow hall they encountered Mrs. Bell. She had been lying in
wait, and now advanced with her be-ringed and not over-clean hand
outstretched.
"Always pleased to see you, Miss Delamere," she beamed. "I'm sure Miss
Hersey's been quite lost without you. No chance of your coming back to
us, I suppose?" She smiled knowingly.
"You never know," said Maggy lightly. "Here's something to--buy shrimps
with," she supplemented, winking at Alexandra.
Mrs. Bell gave an astonished and delighted look at the coin before her
fingers closed on it.
"Well, you are a dear! I always did say you had a heart of gold--"
"Not when my purse had only coppers in it," Maggy laughed.
"What did you give her? She looked quite surprised," Alexandra inquired
directly the street door had shut.
"A sovereign."
"But why?"
"Swank, my dear. Get in."
The car moved off.
"How do you like it?" she asked. "It's a Primus. Fred's got an
interest in them. I wish he'd make me an agent. He's had my photo
taken in one for an ad. They've got electric starting and lighting and
only cost two-seventy-five. Lean back, dear. Isn't it comfy? Oh, I
wonder what you'll think of my flat. You'll like the bathroom, I know.
Hot water service at any time of the day or night. That's in the
prospectus."
Alexandra laughed.
"May I have a bath?"
"Of course. Whenever you like. I thought you'd ask."
She could not contain her pride in her new home. Alexandra, unable to
help contrasting it with her own poor room, liked its light daintiness,
its exquisite tidiness. Maggy would have delighted in doing the whole
work of a cottage of her own in the country. She was by nature
domesticated. The personal touch was everywhere visible about the flat,
especially to Alexandra who knew her. Maggy had a mania for crochet
work. It was to be seen in all directions. Towels, mats, chair covers,
everything that could have crochet sewn on to it was so ornamented. A
large open workbox, crammed to overflowing with a medley of fancy-work,
testified to the hours she gave to her needle and the many directions in
which she made use of it. A mongrel terrier gave them a violent welcome
as they came in, and a dissipated-looking cat blinked at them lazily
from the sofa where it lay on a cushion. Maggy introduced the two
animals.
"This is Mr. Onions," she said. "I saw him eating one out of a dustbin
and brought him here. He was starved, Lexie. Now he lives on the fat of
the land, like me. And he's no breed, like me. Neither is Mrs.
Slightly. She's Slightly because she's slightly soiled, and never will
clean herself, and she's called 'Mrs.' because she's not married, but
ought to be. Isn't it curious, Lexie? Slightly and Onions are absolute
gutter-snipes, but they've taken to cushions and cream as if they'd
never known anything else. Fred can't bear them. He wanted me to have a
Pekinese with a pedigree, but _I_ haven't a pedigree, so I don't want an
animal with one. Slightly and Onions are such grateful devils, too.
Would you really like a bath now? After you've had it we'll have tea.
China tea at four and six a pound, my dear! Think of that! I believe I
could drink tea dust and enjoy it if I knew it was expensive."
While Alexandra luxuriated in her bath, reckless for once of the
quantity of water she used, Maggy took the opportunity of providing
something exceptional in the way of tea. It began with poached eggs and
finished with strawberries and cream. Maggy was not a bit hungry; she
had lunched late with Woolf. But she knew Alexandra had been denying
herself food and would eat heartily so long as she could do so in
company. So she crammed loyally, ignoring the physical discomfort it
inflicted on her.
Finally she put Alexandra into the most comfortable of her chairs and
drew another close to it. Onions lay at her feet, Slightly was curled
on her lap.
"Now tell me what you've been doing to get an engagement," she said.
"There's nothing to tell. No luck anywhere, that's all."
Maggy sighed. "I wish you could live here. That's impossible, I know.
But why be so proud? Let me lend you a few pounds."
"I can't. I've not used the money you left. I meant to give it back to
you, but I forgot."
"You make me angry. Isn't my money good enough? I'm sorry, Lexie.
You've got such cracked ideas."
Alexandra decided to be frank.
"It isn't that," she said. "I would take your money if I dared and be
grateful for it. I would sooner borrow from you than from any one. But
if I began to borrow, even from you, I should find it more difficult to
keep straight. I've never said as much to anybody before, but I don't
want you to think I won't take it because it's you who are offering it."
"I think I know what you mean. Once you've taken the first step you're
afraid you'll go on slithering. But you've got to take some sort of
step to get a job. De Freyne said we were shabby, Lexie; but if he
could see you now! What's the use of being nearly the same size as your
best friend if you won't let her lend you a dress or two? Answer me
that. That's not borrowing. That oughtn't to hurt your pride. We used
to swop things. And I've got a dress and a hat, and a pair of shoes in
the other room that are too small for me. You must have them, Lexie.
No one'll look at you as you are. When managers see a girl looking
shabby they only think of the reputation of their stage-door. If you'll
just let me give you a leg-up toward a job! Let me drive you round to
the agencies in the car instead of walking. I won't take 'no.' It's
Maggy's call this time."
She prevailed in the end, forced the new frock on Alexandra and the
shoes that were too small; stuffed other things into the parcel when she
wasn't looking--a veil and some gloves, a pot of Bovril from her
sideboard, a tin of biscuits, a bottle of scent and other things.
Alexandra found them all when she got home. They dropped out of the
most unexpected places. There was a box of chocolates in one sleeve,
some very nice soap in another. A silk petticoat was wrapped round a
bottle of lemon squash. It was so like Maggy's indiscriminate largesse.
Where she loved, she was constrained to give, always with both hands.
Before Alexandra left she showed her a photograph.
"Fred," she said. "Isn't he handsome? He's got one white tuft in his
black hair. I wish you knew him, Lexie." Alexandra had all along been
afraid she was going to say that. "I wish you _would_ meet him." Her
voice was wistful. "I'm so proud of you. I've talked about you to him
such a lot. I believe if he were to see you he'd--think more of me,"
she added humbly.
"Doesn't he think a lot of you?" asked Alexandra, surprised. She put
down the photo. The face, handsome, albeit brutal, did not appeal to
her.
"In a way. But I don't think he really believes you're a lady ... that
a lady would be real friends with me. It's difficult to explain."
Alexandra felt sure she would not like Woolf. She instantly resented
what she suspected must be his attitude toward Maggy.
"You'd be doing me a favor," Maggy said. "Would you mind very much?"
Alexandra shrank from meeting Woolf because instinctively she guessed
the kind of man he was. The photograph almost told her. It showed her a
man, not a gentleman, yet whose money bought him the right of way
amongst gentlemen, the type of man who would assume that every woman,
not a lady, had her price. She felt sorry for Maggy.
"I will meet him if you're very keen about it," she said at length. It
seemed so grudging, so ungrateful to refuse the one thing required of
her. Maggy would have done, had done, more than that for her. She
acknowledged the concession now with a spontaneous hug.
"I'll fix a day. We'll have lunch together," she said. "It makes me so
happy, Lexie, to think I've got you again--my friend. Men say women
can't be friends. They don't know. Have another look round before you
go. You do think it nice, don't you? Fred's taken it on a three years'
agreement."
"Is he married?" asked Alexandra suddenly.
"No."
"Then surely he might marry you."
"He would never marry me," said Maggy. "I don't talk about it. I don't
think of it. If he thought I'd got such an idea in my head I don't
believe he'd want me any longer. He'd hate to be tied down to anything
or anybody for longer than a three years' agreement."
An oppression fell on Alexandra. The room, which had been flooded by
the afternoon sun, was in shade now. It looked colder, less intimate.
One saw that it was a room whose furniture had been provided _en bloc_
by a Company--the Company that owned the flats. There was no individual
taste about it. There was nothing permanent about it. It was not a
home, and was not meant to be one.
"But after three years--" Alexandra began anxiously.
Maggy shut her eyes.
"If you ever love a man," she said, "you'll know one doesn't think in
years. One simply feels--in minutes."