"I mean to say wot I 'ave said," the liftman interjected. "An' I don't
mean to say no more. 'Op it. That's all. Or it'll be the worse for
you!"
The lift bell rang, and the man entered the lift and closed the gate.
Then he ascended out of sight. John gaped through the gate into the
well of the lift.
"I've a good mind to break that chap's skull," he said to himself as he
turned away.
He left the block of offices and went towards Prince's Street.
"It's no good hanging about here any longer," he said. "I'll go home!"
A 'bus drove up as he reached the corner, and he climbed into it. "I'll
come again to-morrow," he said, "and try and find her. She'll have to
listen to me. I'm really in love this time!"
He had been provided with a latch-key before leaving Miss Squibb's
house in the morning, and, with an air of responsibility, he let
himself in. Lizzie, carrying a tray of dishes, came into the hall as he
opened the door.
"Just in time," she said affably. "If you'd 'a' been a bit sooner,
you'd 'a' seen the Creams. They come back just after you went out
'smornin'. I told 'em all about you ... you bein' Irish an' littery an'
never 'avin' been to the Zoo or anythink. They _was_ interested!"
"Oh!"
"'E's such a nice man, Mr. Cream is. She ain't bad, but 'e's nice. They
gone to the Oxford now. I wish you'd seen 'em start off in their
broom!"
"Broom?"
"Yes, their carriage. They 'ave to 'ire one when they're in London so's
to get about from one 'all to another. They act in two or three 'alls a
night in London. I do like to see 'em go off in their broom of a
evenin'. Mykes the 'ouse look a bit classy, I think, but Aunt says
they're living in sin an' she down't feel 'appy about it. But wot I sy
is, wot's it matter so long as they pys their rent reg'lar an' down't
go an' myke no fuss. They couldn't be less trouble. They keep on their
rooms 'ere, just the same whether they're 'ere or not, an' sometimes
they're away for months at a stretch. It ain't every dy you get lodgers
like them, and wot I sy is, if they are livin' in sin, it's them
that'll ave to go to 'ell for it, not us. Aunt's very religious, but
she can see sense syme's anybody else, so she 'olds 'er tongue about
it. I down't 'old with sin myself, mind you, but I down't believe in
cuttin' off your nose to spite someone else's fyce. You go an' wash
your 'ands, an' I'll 'ave your dinner up in 'alf a jiff!..."
John stared at her. "I don't know what you mean by living in sin," he
said.
"Well, you are innercent," she replied. "'Aven't you never 'eard of no
one livin' together without bein' married?"
"I've read about it!..."
"Well, that's livin' in sin, that is. Pers'nally, I down't see wot
diff'rence it mykes. They be'ave about the syme, married or not. 'E's a
bit more lovin', per'aps, than a 'usband, but otherwise it's about the
syme!"
The bluntness of Lizzie's speech disconcerted him, and yet the
simplicity of it reassured him. He did not now feel, as he has felt in
the morning, that she was a Bad Woman; but he could not completely
comprehend her. Girls in Ballyards did not speak as she spoke. One knew
that there were Bad Women in the world and that there was much sin in
love-making, but one did not speak of it, except in shuddering
whispers. Lizzie, however, spoke of it almost as if she were talking of
the weather. Evidently, life and habit in England were very different
from life and habit in Ballyards.... He went up the stairs to his room,
in a mood partly of horror and partly of curiosity. He was shocked to
think that he was living in the same house with guilty sinners, but he
had an odd desire to see them.
When he had reached the first landing, Lizzie called after him.
"There's a poce-card for you," she said. "From Mr. 'Inde. 'E says 'e'll
be 'ome to-morrow, an' 'e asts you to give me 'is love. Saucy 'ound!
'E's a one, 'e is!"
John turned towards her. "It won't be necessary for me to give his love
to you, will it?" he said sarcastically. "You seem to have taken it
already!"
She was unaware of his sarcasm. "So I 'ave," she said. "I'll tell 'im
that when 'e comes back!"
"Do you always read post-cards, Lizzie?" he asked.
"Of course I do," she answered. "So does everybody. You 'urry on now,
an' I'll 'ave your dinner up before you finish dryin' your fyce!" She
contemplated him for a moment. "You got nice 'air," she said, "only it
wants brushin'. An' cuttin', too!"
Then she disappeared down the stairs leading to the basement.
"That's a _very_ rum sort of a woman," John murmured to himself as
he proceeded to his room.