II

At first she could not determine who was passing through the twilight of

the room, but as the blinds were suddenly drawn up and a flood of sunlight

poured across the bed, she fell back amid the pillows, having recognized

her mother-in-law in a painful moment of semi-blindness. The old woman

carried a slop-pail, which she nearly dropped, so surprised was she to find

Kate in the stranger's room.

'But how did you get here?' she said hastily.

'I had to give Ralph my pillow, and when he went to sleep I came to fetch

one out of the bedroom here; and then I thought I would be more comfortable

here--I was too tired to go back again--I don't know how it was--what does

it matter?'

Kate, who was stupefied with sleep, had answered so crossly that Mrs. Ede

did not speak for some time; at last, at the end of a long silence, she

said:

'Then he had a very bad night?'

'Dreadful!' returned Kate. 'I never was so frightened in my life.'

'And how did the fit come on?' asked Mrs. Ede.

'Oh, I can't tell you now,' said Kate. 'I'm so tired. I'm aching all over.'

'Well, then, I'll bring you up your breakfast. You do look tired. It will

do you good to remain in bed.'

'Bring me up my breakfast! Then, what time is it?' said Kate, sitting up in

bed with a start.

'What does it matter what the time is? If you're tired, lie still; I'll see

that everything is right.'

'But I've promised Mrs. Barnes her dress by tomorrow night. Oh, my

goodness! I shall never get it done! Do tell me what time it is.'

'Well, it's just nine,' the old woman answered apologetically; 'but Mrs.

Barnes will have to wait; you can't kill yourself. It's a great shame of

Ralph to have you sitting up when I could look after him just as well, and

all because of the mummer.'

'Oh, don't, mother,' said Kate, who knew that Mrs. Ede could rate

play-actors for a good half-hour without feeling the time passing, and

taking her mother-in-law's hands in hers, she looked earnestly in her face,

saying:

'You know, mother, I have a hard time of it, and I try to bear up as well

as I can. You're the only one I've to help me; don't turn against me. Ralph

has set his mind on having the rooms let, and the mummer, as you call him,

is coming here to-day; it's all settled. Promise me you'll do nothing to

unsettle it, and that while Mr. Lennox is here you'll try to make him

comfortable. I've my dressmaking to attend to, and can't be always after

him. Will you do this thing for me?' and after a moment or so of indecision

Mrs. Ede said:

'I don't believe money made out of such people can bring luck, but since

you both wish it, I suppose I must give way. But you won't be able to say I

didn't warn you.'

'Yes, yes, but since we can't prevent his coming, will you promise that

whilst he's here you'll attend to him just as you did to the other

gentleman?'

'I shall say nothing to him, and if he doesn't make the house a disgrace, I

shall be well satisfied.'

'How do you mean a disgrace?'

'Don't you know, dear, that actors have always a lot of women after them,

and I for one am not going to attend on wenches like them. If I had my way

I'd whip such people until I slashed all the wickedness out of them.'

'But he won't bring any women here; we won't allow it,' said Kate, a little

shocked, and she strove to think how they should put a stop to such

behaviour. 'If Mr. Lennox doesn't conduct himself properly--'

'Of course I shall try to do my duty, and if Mr. Lennox respects himself I

shall try to respect him.'

She spoke these words hesitatingly, but the admission that she possibly

might respect Mr. Lennox satisfied Kate, and not wishing to press the

matter further, she said, suddenly referring to their previous

conversation:

'But didn't you say that it was nine o'clock?'

'It's more than nine now.'

'Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! how late I am! I suppose the two little girls are

here?'

'They just came in as I was going upstairs; I've set them to work.'

'I wish you'd get the tea ready, and you might make some buttered toast;

Ralph would like some, and so should I, for the matter of that.'

Then Ralph's voice was heard calling, and seeing what was wanted, she

hastened to his assistance.

'Where were you last night?' he asked her.

'I slept in the stranger's room; I thought you'd not require me, and I was

more comfortable there. The bed in the back room is all ups and downs.'

He was breathing heavily in a way that made her fear he was going to have

another attack.

'Is mother in a great rage because I won't let her in?' he said presently.

'She's very much cut up about it, dear; you know she loves you better than

anyone in the world. You'd do well to make it up with her.'

'Well, perhaps I was wrong,' he said after a time, and with good humour,

'but she annoys me. She will interfere in everything; as if I hadn't a

right to let my rooms to whom I please. She pays for all she has here, but

I'd much sooner she left us than be lorded over in that way.'

'She doesn't want to lord it over you, dear. It's all arranged. She

promised me just now she'd say nothing more about it, and that she'd look

after Mr. Lennox like any other lodger.'

On hearing that his mother was willing to submit to his will, the invalid

smiled and expressed regret that the presence of an extra person in the

house, especially an actor, would give his wife and mother more work to do.

'But I shall soon be well,' he said, 'and I dare say downstairs looking

after the shop in a week.'

Kate protested against such imprudence, and then suggested she should go

and see after his breakfast. Ralph proffered no objection, and bidding him

goodbye for the present, she went downstairs. Annie was helping Mrs. Ede to

make the toast in the front kitchen; Lizzie stood at the table buttering

it, but as soon as Kate entered they returned to their sewing, for it was

against Kate's theories that the apprentices should assist in the household

work.

'Dear mother,' she began, but desisted, and when all was ready Mrs. Ede,

remembering she had to make peace with her son, seized the tray and went

upstairs. And the moment she was gone Kate seated herself wearily on the

red, calico-covered sofa. Like an elongated armchair, it looked quaint,

neat, and dumpy, pushed up against the wall between the black fireplace on

the right and the little window shaded with the muslin blinds, under which

a pot of greenstuff bloomed freshly. She lay back thinking vaguely, her cup

of hot tea uppermost in her mind, hoping that Mrs. Ede would not keep her

waiting long; and then, as her thoughts detached themselves, she remembered

the actor whom they expected that afternoon. The annoyances which he had

unconsciously caused her had linked him to her in a curious way, and all

her prejudices vanished in the sensation of nearness that each succeeding

hour magnified, and she wondered who this being was who had brought so much

trouble into her life even before she had seen him. As the word 'trouble'

went through her mind she paused, arrested by a passing feeling of

sentimentality; but it explained nothing, defined nothing, only touched her

as a breeze does a flower, and floated away. The dreamy warmth of the fire

absorbed her more direct feelings, and for some moments she dozed in a haze

of dim sensuousness and emotive numbness. As in a dusky glass, she saw

herself a tender, loving, but unhappy woman; by her side were her querulous

husband and her kindly-minded mother-in-law, and then there was a phantom

she could not determine, and behind it something into which she could not

see. Was it a distant country? Was it a scene of revelry? Impossible to

say, for whenever she attempted to find definite shapes in the glowing

colours they vanished in a blurred confusion.

But amid these fleeting visions there was one shape that particularly

interested her, and she pursued it tenaciously, until in a desperate effort

to define its features she awoke with a start and spoke more crossly than

she intended to the little girls, who had pulled aside the curtain and were

intently examining the huge theatrical poster that adorned the corner of

the lane. But as she scolded she could not help smiling; for she saw how

her dream had been made out of the red and blue dresses of the picture.

The arrival of each new company in the town was announced pictorially on

this corner wall, and, in the course of the year, many of the vicissitudes

to which human life is liable received illustration upon it. Wrecks at sea,

robberies on the highways, prisoners perishing in dungeons, green lanes and

lovers, babies, glowing hearths, and heroic young husbands. The opera

companies exhibited the less serious sides of life--strangely dressed

people and gallants kissing their hands to ladies standing on balconies.

The little girls examined these pictures and commented on them; and on

Saturdays it was a matter of the keenest speculation what the following

week would bring them. Lizzie preferred exciting scenes of murder and

arson, while Annie was moved more by leavetakings and declarations of

unalterable affection. These differences of taste often gave rise to little

bickerings, and last week there had been much prophesying as to whether the

tragic or the sentimental element would prove next week's attraction.

Lizzie had voted for robbers and mountains, Annie for lovers and a nice

cottage. And, remembering their little dispute, Kate said:

'Well, dears, is it a robber or a sweetheart?'

'We're not sure,' exclaimed both children in a disappointed tone of voice;

'we can't make the picture out.' Then Lizzie, who cared little for

uncertainties, said:

'It isn't a nice picture at all; it is all mixed up.'

'Not a nice picture at all, and all mixed up?' said Kate, smiling, yet

interested in the conversation. 'And all mixed up; how is that? I must see

if I can make it out myself.'

The huge poster contained some figures nearly life-size. It showed a young

girl in a bridal dress and wreath struggling between two police agents, who

were arresting her in a marketplace of old time, in a strangely costumed

crowd, which was clamouring violently. The poor bridegroom was being held

back by his friends; a handsome young man in knee-breeches and a cocked hat

watched the proceedings cynically in the right-hand corner, whilst on the

left a big fat man frantically endeavoured to recover his wig, that had

been lost in the mêlée. The advertisement was headed, 'Morton and Cox's

Operatic Company,' and concluded with the announcement that _Madame

Angot_ would be played at the Queen's Theatre. After a few moments spent

in examining the picture Kate said it must have something to do with

France.

'I know what it means,' cried Lizzie; 'you see that old chap on the right?

He's the rich man who has sent the two policemen to carry the bride to his

castle, and it's the young fellow in the corner who has betrayed them.'

The ingenuity of this explanation took Kate and Annie so much by surprise

that for the moment they could not attempt to controvert it, and remained

silent, whilst Lizzie looked at them triumphantly. The more they examined

the picture the more clear did it appear that Lizzie was right. At the end

of a long pause Kate said:

'Anyhow, we shall soon know, for one of the actors of the company is coming

here to lodge, and we'll ask him.'

'A real actor coming here to lodge?' exclaimed Annie. 'Oh, how nice that

will be! And will he take us to see the play?'

'How silly of you, Annie!' said Lizzie, who, proud of her successful

explanation of the poster, was a little inclined to think she knew all

about actors. 'How can he take us to the play? Isn't he going to act it

himself? But do tell me, Mrs. Ede--is he the one in the cocked hat?'

'I hope he isn't the fat man who has lost his wig,' Annie murmured under

her breath.

'I don't know which of those gentlemen is coming here. For all I know it

may be the policeman,' Kate added maliciously.

'Don't say that, Mrs. Ede!' Annie exclaimed.

Kate smiled at the children's earnestness, and, wishing to keep up the

joke, said:

'You know, my dear, they are only sham policemen, and I dare say are very

nice gentlemen in reality.'

Annie and Lizzie hung down their heads; it was evident they had no

sympathies with policemen, not even with sham ones.

'But if it isn't a policeman, who would you like it to be, Lizzie?' said

Kate.

'Oh, the man in the cocked hat,' replied Lizzie without hesitation.

'And you, Annie?'

Annie looked puzzled, and after a moment said with a slight whimper:

'Lizzie always takes what I want--I was just going--'

'Oh yes, miss, we know all about that,' returned Lizzie derisively. 'Annie

never can choose for herself; she always tries to imitate me. She'll have

the man who's lost his wig! Oh yes, yes! Isn't it so, Mrs. Ede? Isn't Annie

going to marry the man who's lost his wig?'

Tears trembled in Annie's eyes, but as she happened at that moment to catch

sight of the young man in white, she declared triumphantly that she would

choose him.

'Well done, Annie!' said Kate, laughing as she patted the child's curls,

but her eyes fell on the neglected apron, and seeing how crookedly it was

being hemmed, she said:

'Oh, my dear, this is very bad; you must go back, undo all you have done

this morning, and get it quite straight.'

She undid some three or four inches of the sewing, and then showed the

child how the hem was to be turned in, and while she did so a smile hovered

round the corners of her thin lips, for she was thinking of the new lodger,

asking herself which man in the picture was coming to lodge in her house.

Mrs. Ede returned, talking angrily, but Kate could only catch the words

'waiting' and 'breakfast cold' and 'sorry.' At last, out of a confusion of

words a reproof broke from her mother-in-law for not having roused her.

'I called and called,' said Kate, 'but nothing would have awakened you.'

'You should have knocked at my door,' Mrs. Ede answered, and after speaking

about open house and late hours she asked Kate suddenly what was going to

be done about the latchkey.

'I suppose he will have to have his latchkey,' Kate answered.

'I shall not close my eyes,' Mrs. Ede returned, 'until I hear him come into

the house. He won't be bringing with him any of the women from the

theatre.'

Kate assured her that she would make this part of the bargain, and somewhat

softened, Mrs. Ede spoke of the danger of bad company, and trusted that

having an actor in the house would not be a reason for going to the theatre

and falling into idle habits.

'One would have thought that we heard enough of that theatre from Miss

Hender,' she interjected, and then lapsed into silence.

Miss Hender, Kate's assistant, was one of Mrs. Ede's particular dislikes.

Of her moral character Mrs. Ede had the gravest doubts; for what could be

expected, she often muttered, of a person who turned up her nose when she

was asked to stay and attend evening prayers, and who kept company with a

stage carpenter?

Mrs. Ede did not cease talking of Hender till the girl herself came in,

with many apologies for being an hour behind her time, and saying that she

really could not help it; her sister had been very ill, and she had been

obliged to sit up with her all night. Mrs. Ede smiled at this explanation,

and withdrew, leaving Kate in doubt as to the truth of the excuse put

forward by her assistant; but remembering that Mrs. Barnes's dress had been

promised for Tuesday morning, she said:

'Come, we're wasting all the morning; we must get on with Mrs. Barnes's

dress,' and a stout, buxom, carroty-haired girl of twenty followed Kate

upstairs, thinking of the money she might earn and of how she and the stage

carpenter might spend it together. She was always full of information

concerning the big red house in Queen Street. She was sure that the hours

in the workroom would not seem half so long if Kate would wake up a bit, go

to the play, and chat about what was going on in the town. How anyone could

live with that horrid old woman always hanging about, with her religion and

salvation, was beyond her. She hadn't time for such things, and as for

Bill, he said it was all 'tommy-rot.'

Hender was an excellent workwoman, although a lazy girl, and, seeing from

Kate's manner that the time had not come for conversation, applied herself

diligently to her business. Placing the two side-seams and the back under

the needle, she gave the wheel a turn, and rapidly the little steel needle

darted up and down into the glistening silk, as Miss Hender's thick hands

pushed it forward. The work was too delicate to admit of any distraction,

so for some time nothing was heard but the clinking rattle of the machine

and the 'swishing' of the silk as Kate drew it across the table and snipped

it with the scissors which hung from her waist.

But at the end of about half an hour the work came to a pause. Hender had

finished sewing up the bodice, had tacked on the facings, and Kate had cut

out the skirt and basted it together. The time had come for exchanging a

few words, and lifting her head from her work, she asked her assistant if

she could remain that evening and do a little overtime. Hender said she was

very sorry, but it was the first night of the new opera company; she had

passes for the pit, and had promised to take a friend with her. She would,

therefore, have to hurry away a little before six, so as to have her tea

and be dressed in time.

'Well, I don't know what I shall do,' said Kate sorrowfully. 'As for

myself, I simply couldn't pass another night out of bed. You know I was

up looking after my husband all night. Attending a sick man, and one as

cross as Mr. Ede, is not very nice, I can assure you.'

Hender congratulated herself inwardly that Bill was never likely to want

much attendance.

'I think you'd better tell Mrs. Barnes that she can't expect the dress; it

will be impossible to get it done in the time. I'd be delighted to help

you, but I couldn't disappoint my little friend. Besides, you've Mr. Lennox

coming here to-day ... you can't get the dress done by to-morrow night!'

Hender had been waiting for a long time for an opportunity to lead up to

Mr. Lennox.

'Oh, dear me!' said Kate, 'I'd forgotten him, and he'll be coming this

afternoon, and may want some dinner, and I'll have to help mother.'

'They always have dinner in the afternoon,' said Miss Hender, with a

feeling of pride at being able to speak authoritatively on the ways and

habits of actors.

'Do they?' replied Kate reflectively; and then, suddenly remembering her

promise to the little girls, she said:

'But do you know what part he takes in the play?'

Hender always looked pleased when questioned about the theatre, but all the

stage carpenter had been able to tell her about the company was that it was

one of the best travelling; that Frank Bret, the tenor, was supposed to

have a wonderful voice; that the amount of presents he received in each

town from ladies in the upper ranks of society would furnish a small

shop--'It's said that they'd sell the chemises off their backs for him.'

The stage carpenter had also informed her that Joe Mortimer's performance

in the Cloches was extraordinary; he never failed to bring down the house

in his big scene; and Lucy Leslie was the best Clairette going.

And now that they were going to have an actor lodging in their house, Kate

felt a certain interest in hearing what such people were like; and while

Miss Hender gossiped about all she had heard, Kate remembered that her

question relating to Mr. Lennox remained unanswered.

'But you've not told me what part Mr. Lennox plays. Perhaps he's the man in

white who is being dragged away from his bride? I've been examining the big

picture; the little girls were so curious to know what it meant.'

'Yes, he may play that part; it is called Pom-Pom Pouet--I can't pronounce

it right; it's French. But in any case you'll find him fine. All theatre

people are. The other day I went behind to talk to Bill, and Mr. Rickett

stopped to speak to me as he was running to make a change.'

'What's that?' asked Kate.

'Making a change? Dressing in a hurry.'

'I hope you won't get into trouble; stopping out so late is very dangerous

for a young girl. And I suppose you walk up Piccadilly with him after the

play?'

'Sometimes he takes me out for a drink,' Hender replied, anxious to avoid a

discussion on the subject, but at the same time tempted to make a little

boast of her independence. 'But you must come to see _Madame Angot_; I

hear it is going to be beautifully put on, and Mr. Lennox is sure to give

you a ticket.'

'I dare say I should like it very much; I don't have much amusement.'

'Indeed you don't, and what do you get for it? I don't see that Mr. Ede is

so kind to you for all the minding and nursing you do; and old Mrs. Ede may

repeat all day long that she's a Christian woman, and what else she likes,

but it doesn't make her anything less disagreeable. I wouldn't live in a

house with a mother-in-law--and such a mother-in-law!'

'You and Mrs. Ede never hit it off, but I don't know what I should do

without her; she's the only friend I've got.'

'Half your time you're shut up in a sick-room, and even when he is well

he's always blowing and wheezing; not the man that would suit me.'

'Ralph can't help being cross sometimes,' said Kate, and she fell to

thinking of the fatigue of last night's watching. She felt it still in her

bones, and her eyes ached. As she considered the hardships of her life, her

manner grew more abandoned.

'If you'll let me have the skirt, ma'am, I'll stitch it up.'

Kate handed her the silk wearily, and was about to speak when Mrs. Ede

entered.

'Mr. Lennox is downstairs,' she said stiffly. 'I don't know what you'll

think of him. I'm a Christian woman and I don't want to misjudge anyone,

but he looks to me like a person of very loose ways.'

Kate flushed a little with surprise, and after a moment she said:

'I suppose I'd better go down and see him. But perhaps he won't like the

rooms after all. What shall I say to him?'

'Indeed, I can't tell you; I've the dinner to attend to.'

'But,' said Kate, getting frightened, 'you promised me not to say any more

on this matter.'

'Oh, I say nothing. I'm not mistress here. I told you that I would not

interfere with Mr. Lennox; no more will I. Why should I? What right have I?

But I may warn you, and I have warned you. I've said my say, and I'll abide

by it.'

These hard words only tended to confuse Kate; all her old doubts returned

to her, and she remained irresolute. Hender, with an expression of contempt

on her coarse face, watched a moment and then returned to her sewing. As

she did so Kate moved towards the door. She waited on the threshold, but

seeing that her mother-in-law had turned her back, her courage returned to

her and she went downstairs. When she caught sight of Mr. Lennox she shrank

back frightened, for he was a man of about thirty years of age, with

bronzed face, and a shock of frizzly hair, and had it not been for his

clear blue eyes he might have passed for an Italian.

Leaning his large back against the counter, he examined a tray of ornaments

in black jet. Kate thought he was handsome. He wore a large soft hat, which

was politely lifted from his head when she entered. The attention

embarrassed her, and somewhat awkwardly she interrupted him to ask if he

would like to see the rooms. The suddenness of the question seemed to

surprise him, and he began talking of their common acquaintance, the agent

in advance, and of the difficulty in getting lodgings in the town. As he

spoke he stared at her, and he appeared interested in the shop.

It was a very tiny corner, and, like a Samson, Mr. Lennox looked as if he

would only have to extend his arms to pull the whole place down upon his

shoulders. From the front window round to the kitchen door ran a mahogany

counter; behind it, there were lines of cardboard boxes built up to the

ceiling; the lower rows were broken and dusty, and spread upon wires were

coarse shirts and a couple of pairs of stays in pink and blue. The windows

were filled with babies' frocks, hoods, and many pairs of little woollen

shoes.

After a few remarks from Mr. Lennox the conversation came to a pause, and

Kate asked him again if he would like to see the rooms. He said he would be

delighted, and she lifted the flap and let him pass into the house. On the

right of the kitchen door there was a small passage, and at the end of it

the staircase began; the first few steps turned spirally, but after that it

ascended like a huge canister or burrow to the first landing.

They passed Mrs. Ede gazing scornfully from behind the door of the

workroom, but Mr. Lennox did not seem to notice her, and continued to talk

affably of the difficulty of finding lodgings in the town.

Even the shabby gentility of the room, which his presence made her realize

more vividly than ever, did not appear to strike him. He examined with

interest the patchwork cloth that covered the round table, looked

complacently at the little green sofa with the two chairs to match, and

said that he thought he would be comfortable. But when Kate noticed how

dusty was the pale yellow wall-paper, with its watery roses, she could not

help feeling ashamed, and she wondered how so fine a gentleman as he could

be so easily satisfied. Then, plucking up courage, she showed him the

little mahogany chiffonier which stood next the door, and told him that it

was there she would keep whatever he might order in the way of drinks. Mr.

Lennox walked nearer to the small looking-glass engarlanded with green

paper cut into fringes, twirled a slight moustache many shades lighter than

his hair, and admired his white teeth.

The inspection of the drawing-room being over, they went up the second

portion of the canister-like staircase, and after a turn and a stoop

arrived at the bedroom.

'I'm sorry you should see the room like this,' Kate said. 'I thought that

my mother-in-law had got the room ready for you. I was obliged to sleep

here last night; my husband--'

'I assure you I take no objection to the fact of your having slept here,'

he replied gallantly.

Kate blushed, and an awkward silence followed.

As Mr. Lennox looked round an expression of dissatisfaction passed over his

face. It was a much poorer place than the drawing-room. Religion and

poverty went there hand-in-hand. A rickety iron bedstead covered with

another patchwork quilt occupied the centre of the room, and there was a

small chest of drawers in white wood placed near the fireplace--the

smallest and narrowest in the world. Upon the black painted chimney-piece a

large red apple made a spot of colour. The carpet was in rags, and the lace

blinds were torn, and hung like fishnets. Mr. Lennox apparently was not

satisfied, but when his eyes fell upon Kate it was clear that he thought

that so pretty a woman might prove a compensation. But the pious

exhortations hanging on the walls seemed to cause him a certain uneasiness.

Above the washstand there were two cards bearing the inscriptions, 'Thou

art my hope,' 'Thou art my will'; and these declarations of faith were

written within a painted garland of lilies and roses.

'I see that you're religious.'

'I'm afraid not so much as I should be, sir.'

'Well, I don't know so much about that; the place is covered with Bible

texts.'

'Those were put there by my mother-in-law. She is very good.'

'Oh ah,' said Mr. Lennox, apparently much relieved by the explanation. 'Old

people are very pious, generally, aren't they? But this patchwork quilt is

yours, I suppose?'

'Yes, sir; I made it myself,' said Kate, blushing.

He made several attempts at conversation, but she did not respond, her

whole mind being held up by the thought: 'Is he going to take the rooms, I

wonder?' At last he said:

'I like these apartments very well; and you say that I can have breakfast

here?'

'Oh, you can have anything you order, sir. I, or my mother, will--'

'Very well, then; we may consider the matter settled. I'll tell them to

send down my things from the theatre.'

This seemed to conclude the affair, and they went downstairs. But Mr.

Lennox stopped on the next landing, and without any apparent object

re-examined the drawing-room. Speaking like a man who wanted to start a

conversation, he manifested interest in everything, and asked questions

concerning the rattle of the sewing-machine, which could be heard

distinctly; and before she could stop him he opened the door of the

workroom. He wondered at all the brown-paper patterns that were hung on the

walls, and Miss Hender, too eager to inform him, took advantage of the

occasion to glide in a word to the effect that she was going to see him

that evening at the theatre. Kate was amused, but felt it was her duty to

take the first opportunity of interrupting the conversation. For some

unexplained reason Mr. Lennox seemed loath to go, and it was with

difficulty he was got downstairs. Even then he could not pass the kitchen

door without stopping to speak to the apprentices. He asked them where they

had found their brown hair and eyes, and attempted to exchange a remark

with Mrs. Ede. Kate thought the encounter unfortunate, but it passed off

better than she expected. Mrs. Ede replied that the little girls were

getting on very well, and, apparently satisfied with this answer, Mr.

Lennox turned to go. His manner indicated his Bohemian habits, for after

all this waste of time he suddenly remembered that he had an appointment,

and would probably miss it by about a quarter of an hour.

'Will you require any dinner?' asked Kate, following him to the door.

At the mention of the word 'dinner' he again appeared to forget all about

his appointment. His face changed its expression, and his manner again grew

confidential. He asked all kinds of questions as to what she could get him

to eat, but without ever quite deciding whether he would be able to find

time to eat it. Kate thought she had never seen such a man. At last in a

fit of desperation, he said:

'I'll have a bit of cold steak. I haven't the time to dine, but if you'll

put that out for me ... I like a bit of supper after the theatre--'

Kate wished to ask him what he would like to drink with it, but it was

impossible to get an answer. He couldn't stop another minute, and, dodging

the passers-by, he rushed rapidly down the street. She watched until the

big shoulders were lost in the crowd, and asked herself if she liked the

man who had just left her; but the answer slipped from her when she tried

to define it, and with a sigh she turned into the shop and mechanically set

straight those shirts that hung aslant on the traversing wires. At that

moment Mrs. Ede came from the kitchen carrying a basin of soup for her sick

son. She wanted to know why Kate had stayed so long talking to that man.

'Talking to him!' Kate repeated, surprised at the words and suspicious of

an implication of vanity. 'If we're going to take his money it's only right

that we should try to make him comfortable.'

'I doubt if his ten shillings a week will bring us much good,' Mrs. Ede

answered sourly; and she went upstairs, backbone and principles equally

rigid, leaving Kate to fume at what she termed her mother-in-law's

unreasonableness.

But Kate had no time to indulge in many angry thoughts, for the tall gaunt

woman returned with tears in her eyes to beg pardon.

'I'm so sorry, dear. Did I speak crossly? I'll say no more about the actor,

I'll promise.'

'I don't see why I should be bullied in my own house,' Kate answered,

feeling that she must assert herself. 'Why shouldn't I let my rooms to Mr.

Lennox if I like?'

'You're right,' Mrs. Ede replied--'I've said too much; but don't turn

against me, Kate.'

'No, no, mother; I don't turn against you. You're the only person I have to

love.'

At these words a look of pleasure passed over the hard, blunt features of

the peasant woman, and she said with tears in her voice:

'You know I'm a bit hard with my tongue, but that's all; I don't mean it.'

'Well, say no more, mother,' and Kate went upstairs to her workroom. Miss

Hender, already returned from dinner, was trembling with excitement, and

she waited impatiently for the door to be shut that she might talk. She had

been round to see her friend the stage carpenter, and he had told her all

about the actor. Mr. Lennox was the boss; Mr. Hayes, the acting manager,

was a nobody, generally pretty well boozed; and Mr. Cox, the London gent,

didn't travel.

Kate listened, only half understanding what was said.

'And what part does he play in _Madame Angot_?' she asked as she bent

her head to examine the bead trimmings she was stitching on to the sleeves.

'The low comedy part,' said Miss Hender; but seeing that Kate did not

understand, she hastened to explain that the low comedy parts meant the

funny parts.

'He's the man who's lost his wig--La--La Ravodée, I think they call it--and

a very nice man he is. When I was talking to Bill I could see Mr. Lennox

between the wings; he had his arm round Miss Leslie's shoulder. I'm sure

he's sweet on her.'

Kate looked up from her work and stared at Miss Hender slowly. The

announcement that Mr. Lennox was the funny man was disappointing, but to

hear that he was a woman's lover turned her against him.

'All those actors are alike. I see now that my mother-in-law was right. I

shouldn't have let him my rooms.'

'One's always afraid of saying anything to you, ma'am; you twist one's

words so. I'm sure I didn't mean to say there was any harm between him and

Miss Leslie. There, perhaps you'll go and tell him that I spoke about him.'

'I'm sure I shall do nothing of the sort. Mr. Lennox has taken my rooms for

a week, and there's an end of it. I'm not going to interfere in his private

affairs.'

The conversation then came to a pause, and all that was heard for a long

time was the clicking of the needle and the rustling of silk. Kate wondered

how it was that Mr. Lennox was so different off the stage from what he was

when on; and it seemed to her strange that such a nice gentleman--for she

was obliged to admit that he was that--should choose to play the funny

parts. As for his connection with Miss Leslie, that of course was none of

her business. What did it matter to her? He was in love with whom he

pleased. She'd have thought he was a man who would not easily fall in love;

but perhaps Miss Leslie was very pretty, and, for the matter of that, they

might be going to be married. Meanwhile Miss Hender regretted having told

Kate anything about Mr. Lennox. The best and surest way was to let people

find out things for themselves, and having an instinctive repugnance to

virtue--at least, to questions of conscience--she could not abide whining

about spilt milk. Beyond an occasional reference to their work, the women

did not speak again, until at three o'clock Mrs. Ede announced that dinner

was ready. There was not much to eat, however, and Kate had little

appetite, and she was glad when the meal was finished. She had then to help

Mrs. Ede in getting the rooms ready, and when this was done it was time for

tea. But not even this meal did they get in comfort, for Mr. Lennox had

ordered a beefsteak for supper; somebody would have to go to fetch it. Mrs.

Ede said she would, and Kate went into the shop to attend to the few

customers who might call in the course of the evening. The last remarkable

event in this day of events was the departure of Miss Hender, who came

downstairs saying she had only just allowed herself time to hurry to the

theatre; she feared she wouldn't be there before the curtain went up, and

she was sorry Kate wasn't coming, but she would tell her to-morrow all

about Mr. Lennox, and how the piece went. As Kate bade her assistant

good-night a few customers dropped in, all of whom gave a great deal of

trouble. She had to pull down a number of packages to find what was wanted.

Then her next-door neighbour, the stationer's wife, called to ask after Mr.

Ede and to buy a reel of cotton; and so, in evening chat, the time passed,

until the fruiterer's boy came to ask if he should put up the shutters.

Kate nodded, and remarked to her friend, who had risen to go, what a nice,

kind man Mr. Jones was.

'Yes, indeed, they are very kind people, but their prices are very high. Do

you deal with them?'

Kate replied that she did; and, as the fruiterer's boy put up the shutters

with a series of bangs, she tried to persuade her neighbour to buy a

certain gown she had been long talking of.

'Trimming and everything, it won't cost you more than thirty shillings;

you'll want something fresh now that summer's coming on.'

'So I shall. I'll speak to my man about it to-night. I think he'll let me

have it.'

'He won't refuse you if you press him.'

'Well, we shall see,' and bidding Kate good-night she passed into the

street.

The evening was fine, and Kate stood for a long while watching the people

surging out of the potteries towards Piccadilly. 'Coming out,' she said,

'for their evening walk,' and she was glad that the evening was fine.

'After a long day in the potteries they want some fresh air,' and then,

raising her eyes from the streets, she watched the sunset die out of the

west; purple and yellow streaks still outlined the grey expanse of the

hills, making the brick town look like a little toy. An ugly little brick

town--brick of all colours: the pale reddish-brown of decaying brick-yards,

the fierce red brick of the newly built warehouses that turns to purple,

and above the walls scarlet tiled roofs pointing sharp angles to a few

stars.

Kate stood watching the fading of the hills into night clouds, interested

in her thoughts vaguely--her thoughts adrift and faded somewhat as the

spectacle before her. She wondered if her lodger would be satisfied with

her mother's cooking; she hoped so. He was a well-spoken man, but she could

not hope to change mother. As the image of the lodger floated out of her

mind Hender's came into it, and she hoped the girl would not get into

trouble. So many poor girls are in trouble; how many in the crowd passing

before her door? The difficulty she was in with Mrs. Barnes's dress

suggested itself, and with a shiver and a sigh she shut the street-door and

went upstairs. The day had passed; it was gone like a hundred days before

it--wearily, perhaps, yet leaving in the mind an impression of something

done, of duties honestly accomplished.