“That’s what we think; and it’s cheap.”
“Well, I couldn’t have had any dinner at all, only I’m cadging dinner with you tomorrow.”
“What would you have done?”
“An egg, at an A.B.C.”
“How fond you are of A.B.C.s.”
“I love them.”
“What is it that you love about them?”
“Chiefly I think their dowdiness. The food is honest; not showy, and they are so blissfully dowdy.”
Both girls laughed.
“It’s no good. I have come to the conclusion I like dowdiness. I’m not smart. You are.”
“This is the first we have heard of it.”
“Well you know you are. You keep in the fashion. It may be quite right, perhaps you are more sociable than I am.”
“One is so conspicuous if one is not dressed more or less like other people.”
“That’s what I hate; dressing like other people. If I could afford it I should be stylish—not smart. Perfect coats and skirts and a few good evening dresses. But you must be awfully well off for that. If I can’t be stylish I’d rather be dowdy and in a way I like dowdiness even better than stylishness.”
The girls laughed.
“But aren’t clothes awful, anyhow? I’ve spent four and eleven on my knickers and I can’t possibly get a skirt till next year if then, or afford to hire a machine.”
“Why don’t you ask them to raise your salary?”
“After four months? Besides any fool could do the work.”
“If I were you I should tell them. I should say ‘Gentlemen—I wish for a skirt and a bicycle.’ ”
“Mag, don’t be so silly.”
“I can’t see it. They would benefit by your improved health and spirits. Jan and I are new women since we have learned riding. I am thinking of telling the governor I must have a rise to meet the increased demands of my appetite. Our housekeeping expenses I shall say are doubled. What will you? Que faire?”
“You see the work I’m doing is not worth more than a pound a week—my languages are no good there. I suppose I ought to learn typing and shorthand; but where could I find the money for the training?”
“Will you teach her shorthand if I teach her typing?”
“Certainly, if the child wants to learn. I don’t advise her.”
“Why not, Jan. You did. How long would it take me in evenings?”
“A year at least, to be marketable. It’s a vile thing to learn, unless you are thoroughly stupid.”
“That’s true. Jan was a perfect fool. The more intelligent you are the longer you take.”
“You see it isn’t a language. It is an arbitrary system of signs.”
“With your intelligence you’d probably grow grey at the school. Wouldn’t she, Jan?”
“Probably.”
“Besides I can’t imagine Mistress Miriam in an office.”
“Nobody would have me. I’m not businesslike enough. I am learning bookkeeping at their expense. And don’t forget they give me lunch and tea. I say, are we going to read The Evolution of the Idea of God tonight?”
“Yes. Let’s get back and get our clothes off. If I don’t have a cigarette within half an hour I shall die.”
“Oh, so shall I. I had forgotten the existence of cigarettes.”
Out in the street Miriam felt embarrassed. The sunset glow broke through wherever there was a gap towards the northwest, and flooded a strip of the street and struck a building. The presence of the girls added a sharpness to its beauty, especially the presence of Mag who felt the spring even in London. But both of them seemed entirely oblivious. They marched along at a great rate, very upright and swift—like grenadiers—why grenadiers? Like grenadiers, making her hurry in a way that increased the discomfort of her hard cheap down-at-heel shoes. Their high-heeled shoes were in perfect condition and they went on and on laughing and jesting as if there were no spring evening all round them. She wanted to stroll, and stop at every turn of the road. She grew to dislike them both long before Kennett Street was reached, their brisk gait as they walked together in step, leaving her to manoeuvre the passing of pedestrians on the narrow pavements of the side streets, the self-confident set of their this-season’s clothes, “line” clothes, like everyone else was wearing, everyone this side of the west-end; Oxford Street clothes … and to long to be wandering home alone through the leafy squares. Were people who lived together always like this, always brisk and joking and keeping it up? They got on so well together … and she got on so well too with them. “No one ever feels a third,” Mag had said. I am tired, too tired. They are stronger than I am. I feel dead; and they are perfectly fresh.
“D’you know I believe I feel too played out to read,” she said at their door.
“Then come in and smoke,” said Mag taking her arm. “The night is yet young.”
X
Miriam swung her legs from the table and brought her tilted chair to the ground. The leads sloped down as she got to her feet and the strip of sky disappeared. The sunlight made a broad strip of gold along the parapet and a dazzling plaque upon the slope of the leads. She lounged into the shadowy middle of the room and stood feeling tall and steady and easy and agile in the freedom of knickers. The clothes lying on the bed were transformed. “I say,” she murmured, her cigarette end wobbling encouragingly from the corner of her lips as she spoke, “they’re not bad.” She strolled about the room glancing at them from different points of view. They really made quite a good whole. It was the lilac that made them a good whole, the fresh heavy blunt cones of pure colour. In the distance the bunched ribbon looked almost all green. She drew the hat nearer to the light and the ribbon became mauve with green shadows and green with mauve shadows as it moved. The girl had been right about bunching the ribbon
