THE TROUSSEAU
This the first time these two had each other at large, was clearly not a
comfortable event for either of them. The girl blushed, and hastily got
off her seat. Hilary, who raised his hat and frowned, sat down on it.
"Don't get up," he said; "I want to talk to you."
The little model obediently resumed her seat. A silence followed. She
had on the old brown skirt and knitted jersey, the old blue-green
tam-o'-shanter cap, and there were marks of weariness beneath her eyes.
At last Hilary remarked: "How are you getting on?"
The little model looked at her feet.
"Pretty well, thank you, Mr. Dallison."
"I came to see you yesterday."
She slid a look at him which might have meant nothing or meant much, so
perfect its shy stolidity.
"I was out," she said, "sitting to Miss Boyle."
"So you have some work?"
"It's finished now."
"Then you're only getting the two shillings a day from Mr. Stone?"
She nodded.
"H'm!"
The unexpected fervour of this grunt seemed to animate the little model.
"Three and sixpence for my rent, and breakfast costs threepence
nearly--only bread-and-butter--that's five and two; and washing's always
at least tenpence--that's six; and little things last week was a
shilling--even when I don't take buses--seven; that leaves five shillings
for my dinners. Mr. Stone always gives me tea. It's my clothes worries
me." She tucked her feet farther beneath the seat, and Hilary refrained
from looking down. "My hat is awful, and I do want some---" She looked
Hilary in the face for the first time. "I do wish I was rich."
"I don't wonder."
The little model gritted her teeth, and, twisting at her dirty gloves,
said: "Mr. Dallison, d'you know the first thing I'd buy if I was rich?"
"No."
"I'd buy everything new on me from top to toe, and I wouldn't ever wear
any of these old things again."
Hilary got up: "Come with me now, and buy everything new from top to
toe."
"Oh!"
Hilary had already perceived that he had made an awkward, even dangerous,
proposal; short, however, of giving her money, the idea of which offended
his sense of delicacy, there was no way out of it. He said brusquely:
"Come along!"
The little model rose obediently. Hilary noticed that her boots were
split, and this--as though he had seen someone strike a child--so moved
his indignation that he felt no more qualms, but rather a sort of
pleasant glow, such as will come to the most studious man when he levels
a blow at the conventions.
He looked down at his companion--her eyes were lowered; he could not tell
at all what she was thinking of.
"This is what I was going to speak to you about," he said: "I don't like
that house you're in; I think you ought to be somewhere else. What do you
say?"
"Yes, Mr. Dallison."
"You'd better make a change, I think; you could find another room,
couldn't you?"
The little model answered as before: "Yes, Mr. Dallison."
"I'm afraid that Hughs is-a dangerous sort of fellow."
"He's a funny man."
"Does he annoy you?"
Her expression baffled Hilary; there seemed a sort of slow enjoyment in
it. She looked up knowingly.
"I don't mind him--he won't hurt me. Mr. Dallison, do you think blue or
green?"
Hilary answered shortly: "Bluey-green."
She clasped her hands, changed her feet with a hop, and went on walking
as before.
"Listen to me," said Hilary; "has Mrs. Hughs been talking to you about
her husband?"
The little model smiled again.
"She goes on," she said.
Hilary bit his lips.
"Mr. Dallison, please--about my hat?"
"What about your hat?"
"Would you like me to get a large one or a small one?"
"For God's sake," answered Hilary, "a small one--no feathers."
"Oh!"
"Can you attend to me a minute? Have either Hughs or Mrs. Hughs spoken
to you about--coming to my house, about--me?"
The little model's face remained impassive, but by the movement of her
fingers Hilary saw that she was attending now.
"I don't care what they say."
Hilary looked away; an angry flush slowly mounted in his face.
With surprising suddenness the little model said:
"Of course, if I was a lady, I might mind!"
"Don't talk like that!" said Hilary; "every woman is a lady."
The stolidity of the girl's face, more mocking far than any smile, warned
him of the cheapness of this verbiage.
"If I was a lady," she repeated simply, "I shouldn't be livin' there,
should I?"
"No," said Hilary; "and you had better not go on living there, anyway."
The little model making no answer, Hilary did not quite know what to say.
It was becoming apparent to him that she viewed the situation with a very
different outlook from himself, and that he did not understand that
outlook.
He felt thoroughly at sea, conscious that this girl's life contained a
thousand things he did not know, a thousand points of view he did not
share.
Their two figures attracted some attention in the crowded street, for
Hilary-tall and slight, with his thin, bearded face and soft felt
hat--was what is known as "a distinguished-looking man"; and the little
model, though not "distinguished-looking" in her old brown skirt and
tam-o'shanter cap, had the sort of face which made men and even women
turn to look at her. To men she was a little bit of strangely
interesting, not too usual, flesh and blood; to women, she was that which
made men turn to look at her. Yet now and again there would rise in some
passer-by a feeling more impersonal, as though the God of Pity had shaken
wings overhead, and dropped a tiny feather.
So walking, and exciting vague interest, they reached the first of the
hundred doors of Messrs. Rose and Thorn.
Hilary had determined on this end door, for, as the adventure grew
warmer, he was more alive to its dangers. To take this child into the
very shop frequented by his wife and friends seemed a little mad; but
that same reason which caused them to frequent it--the fact that there
was no other shop of the sort half so handy--was the reason which caused
Hilary to go there now. He had acted on impulse; he knew that if he let
his impulse cool he would not act at all. The bold course was the wise
one; this was why he chose the end door round the corner. Standing aside
for her to go in first, he noticed the girl's brightened eyes and cheeks;
she had never looked so pretty. He glanced hastily round; the department
was barren for their purposes, filled entirely with pyjamas. He felt a
touch on his arm. The little model, rather pink, was looking up at him.
"Mr. Dallison, am I to get more than one set of--underthings?"
"Three-three," muttered Hilary; and suddenly he saw that they were on the
threshold of that sanctuary. "Buy them," he said, "and bring me the
bill."
He waited close beside a man with a pink face, a moustache, and an almost
perfect figure, who was standing very still, dressed from head to foot in
blue-and-white stripes. He seemed the apotheosis of what a man should
be, his face composed in a deathless simper: "Long, long have been the
struggles of man, but civilization has produced me at last. Further than
this it cannot go. Nothing shall make me continue my line. In me the
end is reached. See my back: 'The Amateur. This perfect style, 8s. 11d.
Great reduction.'"
He would not talk to Hilary, and the latter was compelled to watch the
shopmen. It was but half an hour to closing time; the youths were moving
languidly, bickering a little, in the absence of their customers--like
flies on a pane unable to get out into the sun. Two of them came and
asked him what they might serve him with; they were so refined and
pleasant that Hilary was on the point of buying what he did not want.
The reappearance of the little model saved him.
"It's thirty shillings; five and eleven was the cheapest, and stockings,
and I bought some sta---"
Hilary produced the money hastily.
"This is a very dear shop," she said.
When she had paid the bill, and Hilary had taken from her a large
brown-paper parcel, they journeyed on together. He had armoured his face
now in a slightly startled quizzicality, as though, himself detached, he
were watching the adventure from a distance.
On the central velvet seat of the boot and shoe department, a lady, with
an egret in her hat, was stretching out a slim silk-stockinged foot,
waiting for a boot. She looked with negligent amusement at this common
little girl and her singular companion. This look of hers seemed to
affect the women serving, for none came near the little model. Hilary
saw them eyeing her boots, and, suddenly forgetting his role of
looker-on, he became very angry. Taking out his watch, he went up to the
eldest woman.
"If somebody," he said, "does not attend this young lady within a minute,
I shall make a personal complaint to Mr. Thorn."
The hand of the watch, however, had not completed its round before a
woman was at the little model's side. Hilary saw her taking off her
boot, and by a sudden impulse he placed himself between her and the lady.
In doing this, he so far forgot his delicacy as to fix his eyes on the
little model's foot. The sense of physical discomfort which first
attacked him became a sort of aching in his heart. That brown, dingy
stocking was darned till no stocking, only darning, and one toe and two
little white bits of foot were seen, where the threads refused to hold
together any longer.
The little model wagged the toe uneasily--she had hoped, no doubt, that
it would not protrude, then concealed it with her skirt. Hilary moved
hastily away; when he looked again, it was not at her, but at the lady.
Her face had changed; it was no longer amused and negligent, but stamped
with an expression of offence. 'Intolerable,' it seemed to say, 'to
bring a girl like that into a shop like this! I shall never come here
again!' The expression was but the outward sign of that inner physical
discomfort Hilary himself had felt when he first saw the little model's
stocking. This naturally did not serve to lessen his anger, especially
as he saw her animus mechanically reproduced on the faces of the serving
women.
He went back to the little model, and sat down by her side.
"Does it fit? You'd better walk in it and see."
The little model walked.
"It squeezes me," she said.
"Try another, then," said Hilary.
The lady rose, stood for a second with her eyebrows raised and her
nostrils slightly distended, then went away, and left a peculiarly
pleasant scent of violets behind.
The second pair of boots not "squeezing" her, the little model was soon
ready to go down. She had all her trousseau now, except the
dress--selected and, indeed, paid for, but which, as she told Hilary, she
was coming back to try on tomorrow, when--when---. She had obviously
meant to say when she was all new underneath. She was laden with one
large and two small parcels, and in her eyes there was a holy look.
Outside the shop she gazed up in his face.
"Well, you are happy now?" asked Hilary.
Between the short black lashes were seen two very bright, wet shining
eyes; her parted lips began to quiver.
"Good-night, then," he said abruptly, and walked away.
But looking round, he saw her still standing there, half buried in
parcels, gazing after him. Raising his hat, he turned into the High
Street towards home....
The old man, known to that low class of fellow with whom he was now
condemned to associate as "Westminister," was taking a whiff or two out
of his old clay pipe, and trying to forget his feet. He saw Hilary
coming, and carefully extended a copy of the last edition.
"Good-evenin', sir! Quite seasonable to-day for the time of year! Ho,
yes! 'Westminister!'"
His eyes followed Hilary's retreat. He thought:
"Oh dear! He's a-given me an 'arf-a-crown. He does look well--I like to
see 'im look as well as that--quite young! Oh dear!"
The sun-that smoky, faring ball, which in its time had seen so many last
editions of the Westminster Gazette--was dropping down to pass the night
in Shepherd's Bush. It made the old butler's eyelids blink when he
turned to see if the coin really was a half-crown, or too good to be
true.
And all the spires and house-roofs, and the spaces up above and
underneath them, glittered and swam, and men and horses looked as if they
had been powdered with golden dust.