The Grey Wig: Stories and Novelettes

house of the well-to-do Mrs. Leadbatter, of London, the elder sister of a young woman who had nursed the vicar's wife. Mrs. Leadbatter had promised the vicar to train up the girl in the way a domestic should go.

'And when I am old enough she is going to pay me wages as well,' concluded Mary Ann, with an air of importance.

'Indeed-how old were you when you left the village?'

'Fourteen.'

'And how old are you now?'

Mary Ann looked confused. 'I don't quite know,' she murmured.

'Oh, come,' said Lancelot laughingly; 'is this your country simplicity? You're quite young enough to tell how old you are.'

The tears came into Mary Ann's eyes.

'I can't, Mr. Lancelot,' she protested earnestly; 'I forgot to count-I'll ask missus.'

'And whatever she tells you, you'll be,' he said, amused at her unshakable loyalty.

'Yessir,' said Mary Ann.

'And so you are quite alone in the world?'

'Yessir-but I've got my canary. They sold everything when my father died, but the vicar's wife she bought my canary back for me because I cried so. And I brought it to London and it hangs in my bedroom. And the vicar, he was so kind to me, he did give me a lot of advice, and Mrs. Amersham, who kept the chandler's shop, she did give me ninepence, all in threepenny bits.'

'And you never had any brothers or sisters?'

'There was our Sally, but she died before mother.'

'Nobody else?'

'There's my big brother Tom-but I mustn't tell you about him.'

'Mustn't tell me about him? Why not?'

'He's so wicked.'

The answer was so unexpected that Lancelot could not help laughing, and Mary Ann flushed to the roots of her hair.

'Why, what has he done?' said Lancelot, composing his mouth to gravity.

'I don't know; I was only six. Father told me it was something very dreadful, and Tom had to run away to America, and I mustn't mention him any more. And mother was crying, and I cried because Tom used to give me tickey-backs and go black-berrying with me and our little Sally; and everybody else in the village they seemed glad, because they had said so all along, because Tom would never go to church, even when a little boy.'

'I suppose then you went to church regularly?'

'Yessir. When I was at home, I mean.'

'Every Sunday?'

Mary Ann hung her head. 'Once I went meechin',' she said in low tones. 'Some boys and girls they wanted me to go nutting, and I wanted to go too, but I didn't know how to get away, and they told me to cough very loud when the sermon began, so I did, and coughed on and on till at last the vicar glowed at father, and father had to send me out of church.'

Lancelot laughed heartily. 'Then you didn't like the sermon.'

'It wasn't that, sir. The sun was shining that beautiful outside, and I never minded the sermon, only I did get tired of sitting still. But I never done it again-our little Sally, she died soon after.'

Lancelot checked his laughter. 'Poor little fool!' he thought. Then to brighten her up again he asked cheerily, 'And what else did you do on the farm?'

'Oh, please sir, missus will be wanting me now.'

'Bother missus. I want some more milk,' he said, emptying the milk-jug into the slop-basin. 'Run down and get some.'

Mary Ann was startled by the splendour of the deed. She took the jug silently and disappeared.

When she returned he said: 'Well, you haven't told me half yet. I suppose you kept bees?'

'Oh, yes, and I fed the pigs.'

'Hang the pigs! Let's hear something more romantic.'

'There was the calves to suckle sometimes, when the mother died or was sold.'

'Calves! H'm! H'm! Well, but how could you do that?'

'Dipped my fingers in milk, and let the calves suck 'em. The silly creatures thought it was their mother's teats. Like this.'

With a happy inspiration she put her fingers into the slop-basin, and held them up dripping.

Lancelot groaned. It was not only that his improved Mary Ann was again sinking to earth, unable to soar in the romantic aether where he would fain have seen her volant; it was not only that the coarseness of her nature had power to drag her down, it was the coarseness of her red, chapped hands that was thrust once again and violently upon his reluctant consciousness.

Then, like Mary Ann, he had an inspiration.

'How would you like a pair of gloves, Mary Ann?'

He had struck the latent feminine. Her eyes gleamed. 'Oh, sir!' was all she could say. Then a swift shade of disappointment darkened the eager little face.

'But I never goes out,' she cried.

'I never go out,' he corrected, shuddering.

'I never go out,' said Mary Ann, her lip twitching.

'That doesn't matter. I want you to wear them indoors.'

'But there's nobody to see 'em indoors!'

'I shall see them,' he reminded her.

'But they'll get dirty.'

'No they won't. You shall only wear them when you come to me. If I buy you a nice pair of gloves, will you promise to put them on every time I ring for you?'

'But what'll missus say?'

'Missus won't see them. The moment you come in, you'll put them on, and just before going out-you'll take them off! See!'

'Yessir. Then nobody'll see me looking so grand but you.'

'That's it. And wouldn't you rather look grand for me than for anybody else?'

'Of course I would, sir,' said Mary Ann, earnestly, with a grateful little sigh.

So Lancelot measured her wrist, feeling her pulse beat madly. She really had a very little hand, though to his sensitive vision the roughness of the skin seemed to swell it to a size demanding a boxing glove. He bought her six pairs of tan kid, in a beautiful cardboard box. He could ill afford the gift, and made one of his whimsical grimaces when he got the bill. The young lady who served him looked infinitely more genteel than Mary Ann. He wondered what she would think if she knew for whom he was buying these dainty articles. Perhaps her feelings would be so outraged she would refuse to participate in the transaction. But the young lady was happily unconscious; she had her best smile for the handsome, aristocratic young gentleman, and mentioned his moustache later to her bosom- friend in the next department.

And thus Mary Ann and Lancelot became the joint owners of a secret, and coplayers in a little comedy. When Mary Ann came into the room, she would put whatever she was carrying on a chair, gravely extract her gloves from her pocket, and draw them on, Lancelot pretending not to know she was in the room, though he had just said, 'Come in.' After allowing her a minute he would look up. In the course of a week this became mechanical, so that he lost the semi-ludicrous sense of secrecy which he felt at first, as well as the little pathetic emotion inspired by her absolute unconsciousness that the performance was not intended for her own gratification. Nevertheless, though he could now endure to see Mary Ann handling the sugar tongs, he remained cold to her for some weeks. He had kissed her again in the flush of her joy at the sight of the gloves, but after that there was a reaction. He rarely went to the club now (there was no one with whom he was in correspondence except music publishers, and they didn't reply), but he dropped in there once soon after the glove episode, looked over the papers in the smoking- room, and chatted with a popular composer and one or two men he knew. It was while the waiter was holding out the coffee-tray to him that Mary Ann flashed upon his consciousness. The thought of her seemed so incongruous