“I shall have to get into it, ’m.”
“Now I expect Mr. Earlforward’s settled your wages with you?”
“No, ’m.”
“Not said anything at all?”
“No, ’m. But it’ll be all right.”
Mrs. Arb was once again amazed at Henry’s marvellous faculty for letting things go.
“Oh, well, perhaps he was leaving it to me, though I’ve nothing to do with this house till tomorrow. Now, what wages do you want, Elsie?”
“I prefer to leave it to you, ’m,” said Elsie diffidently.
“Well, of course, Elsie, being a ‘general’ is a very different thing from being a char. You have a good home and all your food. And a regular situation. No going about from one place to another and being told you aren’t wanted today, or aren’t wanted tomorrow, and only half a day the next day and so on and so on! A regular place. No worries about shall I or shan’t I earn my day’s wage today. … You see, don’t you?”
“Oh yes, ’m.”
“I’ll just show you what I cut out of the West London Observer yesterday.” She drew her purse from her pocket, and from the purse an advertisement of a Domestic Servants’ Agency, offering innumerable places. “ ‘Generals £20 to £25 a year,’ ” she read. “Suppose you start with £20? Of course it’s very high, but wages are high in these days. I don’t know why. But they are. And we have to put up with it.”
“Very well, ’m,” Elsie agreed gratefully.
Twenty pounds seemed a big lump of money to her, and she could not divide by fifty-two. Besides, there it was, printed in the paper! No arguing against that. The two talked about washing and the kitchen and the household utensils which Mrs. Arb had abstracted from the schedule of possessions sold to the purchaser of the business opposite. Elsie sold a couple of books. During this transaction Mrs. Arb retired to the office, and after it she refused to take charge of the money which Elsie dutifully offered to her.
“Elsie, haven’t I just told you I’m not mistress here? You must give the money to your master.”
Then Mr. Earlforward returned; and Mrs. Arb gave Elsie a sign to withdraw upstairs; and Elsie, having placed the money on the paper containing the titles of the sold books, went discreetly upstairs.
“I’ve taken on myself to settle that woman’s wages,” said Mrs. Arb, while Henry was removing his overcoat in the back room. “She told me you hadn’t said anything.”
“No, I hadn’t.”
“Well. I’ve settled twenty pounds a year.”
“Eight shillings a week. Rather less. Anyhow, it’s better than half a crown every morning of your life for half a day’s work.”
“Did you give her half a crown? I only used to give her two shillings. Did you give her any food?”
“Certainly not.”
“Neither did I. Unless she stayed late.”
Mrs. Arb felt upon her Mr. Earlforward’s glance of passionate admiration, and slipped into the enchantment again. She was very content; she was absurdly content. The fact was that Mr. Earlforward had been under the delusion of having driven a unique bargain with Elsie in the matter of wages. For he knew that the recognized monstrous rate was five shillings a day and food. And here this miraculous creature, so gentle, submissive and girlish, had beaten him by sixpence a half-day. What a woman! What a wife! She had every quality. He gloated over her. … He sat on the desk by her chair, boyishly to watch her girlishness. Then he interrupted the tête-à-tête to go and turn off the light in the shop—because the light in the office gave sufficient illumination to show that the shop was open. And he called out to Elsie:
“Elsie, come down and bring the bookstand inside. It ought to have been brought in before. It’s quite dark—long since. … Oh! She won’t look this way,” he murmured, with a shrug in answer to Mrs. Arb’s girlish alarm as he sat down on the desk by her once more.
“Now here’s the ring I’ve got.” He pulled from his waistcoat pocket a hoop of glittering gold. “And here’s your finger-ring—keeper, do you call it? See! They’re exactly the same size. It’s a very good ring, and it’ll last much longer than the old one. Harder. Nine carat. Looks better too, I think.”
Mrs. Arb, examining the ring, kept a smiling, constrained silence. The nine carat was a blow to her. But, of course, he was right; he was quite right. He put the new ring back in his pocket.
“But where’s my old wedding ring?”
“Oh, I sold that to Joas. Flinty fellow, but I don’t mind telling you I sold it to him for six and sixpence more than what I paid for this one.” He spoke, very low—because of Elsie, with a contented and proud calm, his little eyes fixed on her. “I suppose that six and six is by right yours. Here it is.” And he handed her the six and sixpence.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Mrs. Arb weakly, as if to indicate that he could keep the money.
“Oh, no!” said he. “Right’s right.”
She put the coins in her purse. Then she said it was time for her to be “going across.” (Part of the bargain with the purchaser of her business was that he should provide her with a room and food until the day of the wedding.)
“I hope you’ll slip in again tonight,” he urged.
“Not tonight, Henry. It’s the night before. It wouldn’t be quite nice.”
He yielded. They discussed all the arrangements for the morrow. As they were leaving the back room side by side, Henry switched off the light. Elsie had completed her task and gone upstairs. Total darkness—for a few moments! Mrs. Arb felt Henry’s rich lips on hers. She was sensible of the mystery of the overcrowded shop stretching from bay to bay in front of her to the gradually appearing yellow twilight from the gas-lamp of Riceyman Steps. She abandoned herself, in an ecstasy that was perhaps less, perhaps more, than what is called happiness, to the
