What was she to do with this family? she asked herself, as she ran down the stairs. And why should she stay? She was not so old or so useless that she could not get another post, but she remembered Ruth, snuggling under the bedclothes and saying childishly, “Whatever did I do without you?” and she remembered her compact with Mrs. Corder.
“I’ll make a job of it,” she said, rapidly preparing Mr. Corder’s tray, and she carried it into his study with secret pomp, as though, in this ritual, she dedicated herself to the family’s service.
Robert Corder made a handsome figure, standing on the hearthrug, with his head thrown back and some of the urbanity, fit for a visit to the Spenser-Smiths’, still beaming from him, and at the sight of him, Hannah’s faith in her resolutions failed her. She could deal with hysteria, she could help those she pitied, but, in the presence of this man, could she sustain her character of industrious nonentity? Something alive seemed to turn in her breast. It was the demon of mischief who lay there; he was stretching himself in lazy preparation for action and, if she was not careful, he would presently express himself in speech. Perhaps, she thought, a little, a very little, liberty would be good for him: if she kept him too quiet, he would suddenly get out of control, and there would be an end to her high endeavours for the family. The best thing, she decided swiftly, was to be natural: that would satisfy the demon and it was the golden rule for manners, but if she obeyed it at this moment, she would throw the teapot at Mr. Corder’s head. She had had a tiring day and he stood there, like a large, healthy animal waiting to be fed, and made no movement to relieve her of the tray.
“If you would kindly take those books off the table,” she said politely, “I shall be able to put this down.”
He looked at his watch before he obliged her. “Half-past ten,” he said.
“Is that all?” Hannah said pleasantly. “I thought it was about eleven,” and before he had time to make one of the several retorts that must have occurred to him, she exclaimed, “And now I’ve forgotten the biscuits!”
“Don’t trouble about them, Miss Mole. I had supper with Mr. and Mrs. Spenser-Smith.”
She recognised the cue for a murmur of congratulation or envy, but she chose to miss it. “Then, if you don’t want them, I’ll say good night, Mr. Corder.”
“Just a moment, Miss Mole. Mrs. Spenser-Smith expressed some surprise that you had not been to see her. I think it would be courteous to pay her that attention.”
“Then I’ll try to pop in some afternoon, when I’m having a walk.”
Robert Corder’s quick little frown, like Ruth’s, but different in its causes, came and went. “Her At Home day is the first Friday in the month.”
“Does she have an At Home day?” Hannah asked with a wide smile. “I thought that was unfashionable. Then I can’t go till December.”
“You misunderstand me,” he said gently. “It might be better for you to avoid that day.”
“Yes, they’re dreary occasions, aren’t they? Thank you for telling me. Good night.”
She knew she would be called back when she reached the door.
“Another thing, Miss Mole. I shall be asking a gentleman to supper next week. I think Thursday would be the best day. He has just taken up the ministry of Highfield Chapel—a small place, but I suppose he considers it promotion—and I feel we ought to do what we can to welcome him. You will bear that in mind, won’t you?”
“Yes,” Hannah said. “Do you want anything special to eat?”
“I can safely leave that to you, I’m sure. In fact, I think I ought to say how much I appreciate the care you have given to our meals.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased,” she said sincerely. If he was not obtuse, he was generous, and she smiled as she spoke; then her eyes, leaving his face, fell on that of Mrs. Corder who was listening attentively to all they said, and Hannah persuaded herself that Mrs. Corder was glad to think of Ruth, upstairs in the dovecot, and trusted Hannah to do what she could for Ethel. “And, by the way,” Hannah said, “is the minister married?”
Mr. Corder’s annoyance expressed itself in a somewhat sickly smile. “Always the first question!” he exclaimed. “But is it of any real importance to you, Miss Mole?”
“Of great importance,” she replied, “because I suppose, if he is, he will bring his wife.”
Robert Corder turned away quickly. “No, no, he’s not married,” he said.
She looked at his back almost tenderly. The poor man could not open his mouth without betraying himself and though she had said nothing at which he could reasonably take offence, perhaps she had given him something to think about, and her demon had had his little outing and she had a soothing draught to offer Ethel when she carried up a cup of hot milk and knocked at her door.
It was a little while before she gained admittance. She had the impression that everything Ethel possessed was being hurriedly concealed in drawers and cupboards and, when she entered, there were still signs of disorder in the room.
“Don’t worry about Doris,” she said at once. “I’ll have a few words with her in the morning. It will be easier for me than for you. And drink this while it’s hot.” She tried to avoid looking at Ethel’s scarred face, but Ethel showed no more shame than she had shown control. “I’m all in favour of walking out, but I should like to know something about the young man.”
“She ought to have told me!” Ethel exclaimed. “I’ve been so good to her!”
“Yes,” Hannah said, “it’s a mistake to be good to people, if you’re hoping
