“We’ll try combined tactics tomorrow,” he said, and then he created a timely diversion. “I’ve got some Chinese silks upstairs. I’ll bring them down after supper.”
Hannah stayed in the dining-room and Robert Corder lingered by the fire.
“You and I, Miss Mole,” he said, “are not interested in the Chinese silks.”
“Aren’t we?” Hannah replied. “I expect they’re beautiful.”
“Oh, no doubt, no doubt, but hardly matters of concern to you and me.”
Was he trying to remind her of her age and position and hinting that she should not follow the others to the drawing-room?
“Not of concern, certainly. That’s why I’m staying here,” she said reassuringly. “I wonder if Mr. Erley can stop these jets from hissing as well as the other one from bubbling. I thought I was getting used to the noise, but, as Christmas draws nearer, it sounds like all the geese and turkeys making a fuss at the thought of being killed.”
“What a very unpleasant idea!” he said, frowning quickly.
“Yes, isn’t it?” Then she looked up at him and laughed. “I’ve spoilt your Christmas pudding and now I’ve spoilt your goose.”
Mr. Corder suddenly condescended to jest. “Or, as you might say, you have cooked it.”
Hannah laughed still more merrily. She was not going to be beaten by the ladies at the sewing-meeting and Robert Corder might have found it necessary to withdraw in good-humoured dignity, before Miss Mole took advantage of his affability, if Ruth had not appeared, to say that Uncle Jim had given her a lovely silk with little flowers all over it, and did Miss Mole think it could possibly be made into a frock in time for the Spenser-Smith’s party?
“We’ll try,” Hannah said slowly. She was thinking of the little velveteen dress which was to have been a surprise and which would seem so humble in comparison with the flowery silk.
“I knew you’d say that!” In her excitement, Ruth turned to her father and exclaimed, “she never says she can’t do anything when she knows you want it! And do come and stop Ethel from choosing a bright pink. There are heaps of others and the drawing-room’s like a shop.”
“Just a minute, Miss Mole. I suppose you have replied to Mrs. Spenser-Smith’s invitation?”
“No,” Hannah said, “your daughter has done that.”
“But I think it would be courteous to send a separate little note. It’s very kind of her to ask you.”
“Yes, but I wasn’t sure that I ought to go,” Hannah said meekly.
“But certainly, certainly! You could hardly refuse and you will find it quite a homely, friendly affair. Just write to Mrs. Spenser-Smith and express your appreciation.”
“In the first, or the third, person?” Hannah enquired.
“The first, Miss Mole, would be more suitable. Write it in the form of a note.”
“Very well,” Hannah said, and she began to plan her humble little letter, but Ruth had her by the arm to lead her into the drawing-room, and was asking if she had a party frock.
“Black silk and jet trimmings. It’s the only wear for a housekeeper.”
“And Uncle Jim’s got all those lovely things!” Ruth sighed.
“If you dare to say anything to him about me, I’ll never speak to you again!” Hannah whispered vehemently, but Uncle Jim did not need a hint. He was looking at the mass of stuff he had bought and wondering how he was to get rid of it and Hannah’s modest protests were useless when he thrust a roll of silk into her arms.
Ruth’s happiness was now complete. “And won’t Mrs. Spenser-Smith be secretly vexed when she sees us all looking so grand!” she cried.
XXIV
Hannah had the homeless and the childless person’s dislike for Christmas. There were a few people from whom, in the course of her career, she had not been completely severed, and to these she wrote, but the paucity of her acquaintances and her lack of real intimacy with them were very present to her at this time of the year and almost persuaded her of some failure in herself, but it was not easy, and Robert Corder had lately emphasised the fact, to make friends outside the house in which she was a dependent, and to most of the people she had served, often wholeheartedly, sometimes with misguided zeal, becoming absorbed in their affairs as though they were her own, she remained as mere Miss Mole, whose importance vanished with her useful presence. She was accustomed to this state of things but it still amazed her. A human being, to her, was a continuous wonder, a group of human beings made a drama of which she was half creator, half spectator, and she was baffled to know how people amused themselves without this entertainment which never palled and never ended. Hannah was not one of those who considered it a waste of time to lose a train and have to wait on a station platform, who shut their eyes, or read a paper, in railway carriages: she was thrilled by the sight of strangers and by the emanation of their personalities, and it was hard to understand that they did not get the same excitement from her neighbourhood.
When she considered the Corder family dispassionately, she could see that the material for her drama was not promising. The egoism of the Reverend Robert offered the most scope, for the egoism of a person whose abilities are mediocre must have a humorous element, but in Ethel, in Ruth, in the quiet Howard, in Captain Jim Erley, in his shirtsleeves, as he busied himself about the gas, how could she find so much interest? Was her own egoism enlarging the significance of these who made her little world or was she really seeing the whole world in miniature, which was all the ordinary human eye could manage? The shaking of an empire was not more agitating than the imminence of Howard’s disclosure about the ministry; the intrigues of diplomacy were not more complicated and needed no more skill
