“I’m very glad to hear it,” Mrs. Spenser-Smith said with reserve. She had had some experience of Hannah’s high spirits. “Are you going to stay to tea?”
“If you press me like that, dear, of course I will. Time exists for me no longer, unless I’m hungry, and there are ways of misleading one’s stomach. By staying in bed till ten o’clock, I can manage on a cup of tea till the middle of the day; you’re giving me a free meal and I shall be in bed with a book before the pangs begin again.”
“For goodness sake,” said Lilla, who had rung the bell, “don’t talk any of your nonsense while Maud’s bringing in the tea. And afterwards, you’d better tell me what you mean by it.”
“I mean,” said Hannah, when the ban of silence was removed, “that I’m resting at present, as we say on the stage. Remark the pronoun, Lilla. I was on the stage once, you know. In a crowd. And they let me wear my own clothes!”
“Then, if I were you,” said Lilla, “I should be careful not to mention it. How you could do it! But I don’t suppose you really did. And true or not, if you say things like that, what’s going to become of you?”
“It was a virtuous crowd,” Hannah said meekly. “We were all booing a bad man. You can’t ask more than that. I booed for a week and they picked up another shabby female in the next town.”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Lilla said. “For your own sake, you’d better not tell me what you know I shan’t approve of.”
“Ah,” said Hannah, “what’s your little scheme?”
Lilla tightened her lips. “I don’t know that I’m justified in having one.”
“That doesn’t matter in the least, dear.”
“It matters to me,” she said, and then, with a quick change from the noble to the practical, she asked sharply, “Did you get a month’s wages?”
A little shamefaced, Hannah nodded her head. “I did. I managed to be unbearably irritating without being actually rude, so she could neither keep nor rob me. It took some doing, I can tell you. And I was longing to be rude—personally abusive, you know—but there, I don’t suppose you do; you’re so genteel.”
Lilla pushed a cushion behind her back, wreaking on the impassivity of down the annoyance which would have made as little permanent impression on Hannah. “And where are you staying now? You didn’t go the same night, I suppose?”
“No. The next morning—in a cab.” She spoke slowly and her eyes had the fixity of careful thought. “A horse cab, with a beery, bottle-nosed old man on the box.”
“I don’t want details.”
“They’re part of the story and old bottle-nose is the knight-errant. It’s a pity his type is dying out. They know a lot about life, those old men, and I like them. They always believe the worst and they don’t mind a bit. He knew what had happened at once and I’m sorry to tell you that he winked at me. No, I didn’t wink back, but I let him know that I knew how and then I told him I wanted some cheap lodgings and he said he knew the very place for me. And so he did. He took me to a house in Prince’s Road, quite near your place of worship, dear, and I’m sure you’ll feel quite happy about me because Mrs. Gibson is a member of the congregation. I would have let you know sooner, but I’ve been so busy in the free library, looking at the advertisements.”
“Nothing,” said Lilla after a pause, “could have been more unfortunate.”
“Why? I call it very lucky. Only a pound a week for a bed-sitting room, a shilling in the slot for the gas fire, and a share of Mrs. Gibson’s dinner for practically nothing. She’s far too generous, but I try to help her and she says she finds my conversation very bright.”
“Most unfortunate!” Lilla repeated. “And why that cabman should have taken you to one of the houses I should have wished you to avoid, is more than I can understand.”
“It seems quite respectable,” Hannah murmured. “Mr. Blenkinsop lives there, you know.”
“Of course I know it! But I suppose you don’t see much of him?”
“As much as I can,” Hannah answered cheerfully. “But he’s rather a shy bird. And if you’re worrying about what I’ve told these people, you can set your mind at rest. The name of Spenser-Smith has never passed my lips. Mrs. Gibson wouldn’t feel at ease with me if she knew I had such grand connections.”
Lilla assumed the expression with which she tried to counter Hannah’s attacks. It was almost, but not quite, blank. She gave the cushion another push and said, “I was thinking of this silly way of talking about theatres. It doesn’t do, Hannah. It may be bright,” she made the word astonishingly acid, “but it will be remembered against you. The fact is—mind, I’m not sure about it, but I do want you to be careful—there’s a chance that I can get you a post as Mr. Corder’s housekeeper.”
“Who’s he? Oh, I know. The minister. Does he want one?”
“No,” said Lilla, compressing her lips again, “but I think he ought to have one.”
“Then he’s doomed,” said Hannah. “Thank you, Lilla. I take this very kind. What’s the salary?”
“Nothing’s settled. You mustn’t count on it. Mr. Corder is a widower and he’s talking it over with his daughter.”
“Oh, he’s got a daughter.”
“Two,” said Lilla. “Ruth is still at school and somebody ought to look after her. The other night at the Literary meeting—”
“Was Mr. Blenkinsop amusing?” Hannah interpolated.
“No. He didn’t seem to be thinking about what he was saying.”
“No wonder!” Hannah murmured. “But go on, dear, go on. At the Literary meeting—?”
“Ruth had a large hole in her stocking. It looks so bad. Ethel’s useless, she’s
