Sarah and May had their dinner together in a café overlooking one of the steep streets, and, choosing a table by one of the windows, so that they could look out, spread their parcels about them, and discussed their bargains and their mistakes. They were still happy, as happiness went for them in those days, because of the miracle that seemed always possible down in the street. Folks in plenty were coming and going on the narrow stair, and as each head rose above the floor of the room in which they sat, they felt a thrill of anticipation that was yet too slight to bring disappointment in its train. May, perhaps, was slightly puzzled by the persistence of the feeling in the air, but Sarah was well used, like all who are old, to the strange reality of these glamour-days that are fashioned from the past.
They had their heads together over a newfangled floor-cloth when the ubiquitous stranger came quietly up the stairs; and they were so absorbed, and Sarah was so exuberant in her wrath, that he had time to look about him before the final word was said. There was no room for him, he saw, except at the table where they sat, and presently, though rather uncertainly, he advanced a foot. If they had looked at him, he would have gone forward at once, but when they lifted their eyes it was only to turn them towards the window and the street. The little action seemed somehow to shut him out, and, drawing back almost guiltily, he found a seat for himself in the adjoining room. May looked round as he did so, just as though somebody had called, and stared intently at the place where he had been.
He could still see them, however, from where he sat, and he noticed many things about them as he watched. He noticed, for instance, how strong and capable May looked, like a woman who had long since taken her life in her hands and ruled it well. He noticed her good clothes and Sarah’s shabby ones, and that the multitudinous parcels were most of them May’s. He noticed the shake which Time, in spite of her, had put into Sarah’s hands, and was puzzled by the groping manner in which she used her fork. He noticed that the two of them ate little and that without much heart, and that always they turned their faces towards the street. And finally he noticed how Sarah, in the midst of her talk, went suddenly rigid as a woman came into the room.
She was a big woman over sixty years of age, with smooth, high-coloured cheeks and thick dark hair that was still a long way from turning white. Her face said plainly that she had had a full, comfortable, healthy life, with plenty to interest her and little to fret. Her brown eyes, which had been beautiful in youth, had kept their expression of self-satisfaction wholly undisturbed. She looked, indeed, what she was, the mother of a big family, the mistress of a good-class farm, and the wife of a man whose banking-account had long since ceased to keep him awake at nights. She wore a black hat and a black plush coat, and round her shoulders was a big fur wrap. In a kid-gloved hand she carried a muff and a silver-mounted bag, and May, looking down, saw patent-toed boots showing beneath her neat, black skirt. Sarah was sure of them, too, though she could not see them. It was not with her physical eye that she looked at Eliza of Blindbeck, Simon’s brother’s wife.
She, too, had paused in the doorway, looking for a place, but as soon as she saw the two in the window, she advanced at once. As she passed she spoke to several people in a noisy, hearty voice, that seemed to have a blustering quality somewhere at its back. By the time she had reached Sarah’s table and come to a stop, the man in the other room noticed that Sarah had suddenly grown small. …
“Eh, now, if I haven’t been seeking you all over the shop!” Eliza exclaimed. “Will had it you wanted me most particular, so I’ve been looking out. I couldn’t find you, though, whatever I did. I never see folks so set on keeping out of the road!”
Sarah still continued to look as though she had shrunk. Even her voice seemed to have grown less. It sounded far off and rather prim.
“Nay, I don’t know as I did, thank ye,” was all she said. “Will mun ha’ gitten hold o’ the wrong end o’ the stick.”
Eliza looked at her with the little smile which the sight of Sarah always brought to her lips. She pulled a chair towards her and collapsed into it without waiting to be asked.
“Ay, well, that’s queer, to be sure! Will’s no more muddled than most on market-day, as a rule. I made sure you were wanting me right off the reel, from what he said.”
May explained nervously that she had come to Sarah’s assistance instead. Eliza always made her nervous, because she never seemed to know she was in the room. “There wasn’t that much to do,” she finished hurriedly, stumbling over her words. “It’s a pity Mr. Thornthwaite set you looking her up.”
“Nay, I don’t know. … I’d have been
