Mrs. Spenser-Smith blinked these compliments aside and remarked, “I thought you were in Bradford, or some place of that sort.”
“Not for years,” Hannah said, peering across the table at Lilla’s plate. “What are you eating? And why? Have you caught the restaurant habit, or haven’t you got a cook?”
“I’ve had the same cook for more than ten years,” Mrs. Spenser-Smith replied loftily.
“I call that very creditable,” Hannah said, beckoning to the waitress and ordering her coffee and bun. “I wish you’d ask her how it’s done.”
“By giving satisfaction,” Mrs. Spenser-Smith replied loftily.
“And getting it, I suppose,” Hannah sighed. “Oh well! What you get on the swings, you lose on the roundabouts, and I’d rather have my experience than her character, for what, after all, can she do with it, except keep it? And it must be an awful responsibility. Worse than pearls, because you can’t insure it.”
“On the contrary,” Mrs. Spenser-Smith began, but Hannah held up a hand.
“I know. I know all the moral maxims. It sounds so easy. But then, all employers are not like you, Lilla. This coffee smells very good, but alas, how small the bun appears! Yes, your servants are well fed, I haven’t a doubt, and I’m sure their bedrooms are beyond reproach. You should see the one I’m occupying now! It’s in the basement, among the beetles. The servant sleeps in the attic, safe from amorous policemen. Don’t frown so anxiously, Lilla. I am obviously in no danger.” She sat back in her chair and shut her eyes. “But I can hear the ships. I can hear the ships as they come hooting up the river. D’you know what nostalgia is? It’s what I was suffering from when, as you put it, I was in ‘some place of that sort.’ So I spent some of my hard-earned—”
“Don’t shout,” Mrs. Spenser-Smith begged.
“It doesn’t matter. With your well-known charitable propensities, I shall only be taken for one of your hangers-on—which I may be yet, I warn you. I spent quite a lot of money on Nonconformist religious weeklies, and very nearly reestablished my character by reading them ostentatiously. But it was the advertisements I was after. I wanted to be in Radstowe, and Radstowe, I knew, would proclaim its needs in the religious weeklies. I took the first offer, at a pittance, too late to see the lilacs and laburnums, but in time for what, I’m sure, you call the autumn foliage, Lilla dear. And,” she added sadly, “I shan’t last until next spring and it was the spring I wanted, for tonight, as ever is, I fear I’m going to get the sack.”
Mrs. Spenser-Smith frowned again, and after an anxious, exploring glance which, happily, lighted on no face she knew, she said sharply, “And you sit here, eating cakes!”
Lifting her level eyebrows, Hannah looked with amusement at her plate, where there was a scattering of crumbs. “I was always reckless,” she murmured, and then, with an air of being politely eager to shift the conversation from herself, she asked effusively, “And how is Ernest? And how are the children? I should love to see the children!”
“They’re at school,” said Mrs. Spenser-Smith, promptly putting an end to Hannah’s hopes. “Ernest, as usual, is quite well. He overworks, of course,” she added, between pride and resignation. “And now, Hannah, what’s this about losing your situation? And do tell me the truth—if you can. Who are you living with?”
“A tall, gaunt woman with a false hair-front. Dresses in black—I’m supposed to be mending her second best at this moment. Even her stays are black and they reach from her armpits to her knees. Wears black beads in memory of the departed and has his photograph, enlarged and tinted, on an easel in the drawing-room. Lives in Channing Square, name of Widdows. Prophetic! I suppose that’s why he risked it.”
“Don’t be vulgar, Hannah. I think jokes about marriage are in the very worst taste. Widdows? I’ve never heard of her.”
“Perhaps that’s why she’s so unpleasant,” Miss Mole said gently.
The robin-brightness of Mrs. Spenser-Smith’s brown eyes was dimmed with disapproval. She was not stupid, though she chose to let Hannah think her so, and she said severely, “According to you, Hannah, every employer you’ve ever had was objectionable.”
“Not all,” Hannah said quickly, “but naturally, the ones I loved I lost—through no fault of my own. They were exceptional people. The others? Yes, what can you expect? It’s the what-d’you-call-it of the position, and perhaps—it’s a long chance but perhaps—there are people who find Mrs. Widdows lovable.”
“You don’t adapt yourself,” Mrs. Spenser-Smith complained. “It was the same at school. You were always kicking against authority. But you ought to have learnt sense by this time and if you leave this Mrs. Widdows, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” said Miss Mole, “but I really think I’ll have another bun. I’ve got a spare twopence-halfpenny in my pocket. I earned it—by sleight-of-hand. Yes, another of those excellent buns, please, and a curranty one. Doctors,” she informed Mrs. Spenser-Smith, “tell us that currants have sustaining properties, and I badly need them. I don’t know what I’m going to do and I’m not worrying about it much. I’ve got a whole month for making plans and I always enjoy the month I’m under notice. I feel so free and jolly, and there have been occasions when I’ve been asked to stay on, after all. Happiness,” she said, a slight oiliness in her tone, “is a great power for good, is it not?”
“Tut!” said Mrs. Spenser-Smith. “Don’t try any of that with me! I know you too well.”
Miss Mole chuckled. “But not so very well—in Radstowe. I’ve been careful of your reputation. I haven’t told a soul that we’re related. I didn’t even put you to the inconvenience of letting you know I was here. You should give me
