It had gone on for five years, a life of boredom, of loneliness,
mitigated only by the unfailing kindness of Miss Julie. A flat, insipid
existence. She found the Humberts’ conversation unfailingly dull, their
routine almost intolerably stupid. She longed beyond measure for the
comfort and freedom of her old home.
All this had astounded Miss Julie. She was never able really to see how
impossible was her task, never realised that she could not mould this
fragile and wistful child into a Humbert. Or reach her. Material
pleasures made no appeal to that simple soul; she cared next to nothing
for good food, good clothes, a soft bed. She was always docile,
thoroughly a good child, ready, obedient, sweet-tempered. She didn’t
give the least trouble, and never asked for anything. But she
nevertheless disappointed Miss Julie. She didn’t seem to change as she
should have changed. Their cultured atmosphere didn’t transform her. She
sat at their table night after night, meek and clean, with downcast
eyes, never speaking unless spoken to, always and forever the poor
widow’s child in the stranger’s house.
Miss Julie did her best. She sent her to school; she gave her kind and
tactful information about baths and toothbrushes; she saw that she was
well fed and nicely dressed. She took her to the circus every spring,
and now and then to an entertainment considered suitable. Also she
taught her to play a few babyish pieces on the piano, and, what most
pleased the little girl, she had begun to teach her to draw. When all
those activities were cut short by her death.
Even now, after five years, Rosaleen couldn’t bear to look back upon
that. She had been desperate with grief, a little mad thing. She had
been brought in to look for the last time at her friend, she had seen
her lying there, much the same as usual, a stout, sallow woman with
blunt, good-humoured features. And for the first time that face did not
smile at her, that voice did not speak to console and to reassure her.
Miss Amy had no comfort to give. She had never liked the child. She
consented now to keep her, because “dear Julie would have wished it,”
but she kept her as a servant, an unpaid servant, with “privileges.” She
sat at the table with them, she was still nicely dressed, she was given
a little--a very little--pocket money. And she was permitted to go every
Sunday afternoon to see her mother. Miss Amy had no inclination for
continuing Miss Julie’s battle. She did not wish to improve Rosaleen.
Miss Julie had tried with all her tact, all her ability, to divorce the
child from her family, but Miss Amy encouraged intercourse. It helped to
keep Rosaleen in her place.