She roused herself from these visions which were passing across the discoloured front of her old school. She was on her way to visit Lilla and she must at least pretend to be practical, she must concoct the mixture of truth and falsehood suitable to that lady’s palate. A week had passed since their meeting in the teashop and for all but a few hours of that week she had been lodged in Mrs. Gibson’s house, she had been under the same roof as Mr. Samuel Blenkinsop. That would have to be explained and Hannah neither wished nor intended to tell the truth. It involved the private affairs of other people and it was always pleasant to deceive Lilla and to tease her. Moreover, it was doubtful whether the truth would appear to her as probable. She would merely tell Hannah to edit her stories more carefully. And truth, after all, was a relative good: it had to be adulterated and adapted, like a drug, to the constitution of each individual, and Hannah would describe neither her first nor her second visit to the house in Prince’s Road.
She had called there after meeting Lilla, and the little maid in her large cap, who still showed signs of her agitation earlier in the evening, had led her into Mrs. Gibson’s comfortable presence. Mrs. Gibson’s anxieties were incapable of disturbing a basic serenity compounded of mental sluggishness, good nature and physical well-being, and though she was still somewhat shaken, she was in no danger of collapse. She was glad to see Hannah again. Everything was going on as well as could be expected, but Mr. Blenkinsop was upset, and a chat was just what she needed.
“And why should Mr. Blenkinsop be upset?” Hannah demanded. “He hasn’t tried to kill himself and he isn’t married to a man who has! He isn’t the baby of an unsuccessful suicide! He ought to count his blessings—and I’m one of them. If it hadn’t been for me—”
“I know!” said Mrs. Gibson. “So quick, you were, too! And how you ever thought of breaking the window—But there, Mr. Blenkinsop is very respectable and he was always against me letting the basement as a flat. He said we’d get undesirables, and there,” Mrs. Gibson pointed downwards, “sure enough, they are.”
“If it hadn’t been for me,” Hannah persisted, “there would have been an inquest. How would Mr. Blenkinsop have liked that? I’m no more used to suicides than he is—”
“Certainly not!” Mrs. Gibson said courteously.
“But I tried to give Mrs. Ridding the impression that there was nothing unusual about it. It was the least one could do, but much more than he did.”
“It was a pity he came along when he did,” Mrs. Gibson sighed. “It’s true I was looking out for him. It was either him or a policeman, until you bumped into me, and then I’m sure there was no need for anybody else. I’d been shouting myself hoarse through the keyhole, but what was the use of that when he’d locked the door on the inside? And that poor young thing! And the baby crying! Dear, dear! Well, let’s hope it will be a lesson to him. He’s in bed now and I’m going to coax her up here for a bit of supper.”
“And what will Mr. Blenkinsop say to that?”
“I’m hoping he won’t find out,” Mrs. Gibson replied simply. “When he settled down here after his mother died, he hoped I’d see my way to keeping other lodgers out. He pays well, but I made no promise. I like a bit of company.”
“Then,” said Hannah, “will you take me in tomorrow? I can’t pay like Mr. Blenkinsop, but I promise not to put my head in a gas oven. It may be for a few days, or a few weeks. I don’t know. I shall be out of a situation.”
“Why,” said Mrs. Gibson, mildly astonished, “I thought you must be a lady with an independence.”
“Plenty of independence, but it doesn’t fill my pockets.”
“Well I never!” Mrs. Gibson exclaimed. “You see, I noticed your shoes. I was always rather noticing. And then, with you being so prompt and managing—but still, I do admit, it’s comfortable to know you’re one more like myself.”
IV
This was the story which had to be rearranged for Lilla’s benefit, but Hannah trusted to the inspiration of the moment and wasted no time which could be spent on the beauty of the October day. The sun shone with the peculiar brightness of autumn and, in passing through the trees and gilding them, it seemed to borrow as it gave and strike the heaps of fallen leaves with added strength. The streets had the white, swept appearance given by the East wind, chimneys and roofs made sharp lines on the blue sky, and sounds of voices, footsteps, cars and carts and horses, had an unusual resonance. Michaelmas daisies and dahlias flowered in the gardens, there were berries on the rowan trees, the world seemed to be flying every flag it had, and, when Hannah crossed The Green, the fall of a chestnut sounded stealthy, as though its descent were a little shameful in the general glory. It lay among the leaves, a glossy roan, bursting from its green, spiked shell, and she stooped to pick it up, but left it lying there. When the children came out of school one of
