LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 Crown Svo, Cloth, Gilt, (ts. 
 
 THE ARNCLIFFE PUZZLE 
 
 By Gordon Holmes 
 THE LAST MIRACLE 
 
 By RL p. Shiel 
 THE PATH OF PAIN 
 
 By Fergus Hume 
 SIX WOMEN 
 
 By Victoria Cross 
 THE BEAUTY SHOP 
 
 By Daniel Woodroffe 
 THE POISON DEALER 
 
 By Georges Ohnbt 
 THURTELL'S CRIME 
 
 By Dick Donovan 
 ROWENA 
 
 By Agnes Giberne 
 THE MUMMY AND MISS NITOCRIS 
 
 By George Griffith 
 RETRIBUTION 
 
 By Ranger Gull 
 A RUSSIAN COWARD 
 
 By Fred Whishaw 
 THE FINANCIER'S WIFE 
 
 By Florence Warden 
 A WIDOW BY CHOICE 
 
 By CoRALiE Stanton & Heath Hosken 
 LADY JIM OF CURZON STREET 
 
 By Fergus Hume (3rd Ed.) 
 PLAYING THE KNAVE 
 
 By Florence Warden (and Ed.) 
 THE CUBS 
 
 By Shan F. Bullock 
 RED O' THE FEUD 
 
 By Halliwell Sutcliffe 
 NOTES FROM MY SOUTH SEA LOG 
 
 By Louis Becke 
 THE COST 
 
 By David Graham Phillips 
 LIFE'S SHOP WINDOW 
 
 By Victoria Cross 
 THE SINEWS OF WAR 
 
 By Eden Piiilli'Otts & Arnold Bennett
 
 THE 
 WORK- 
 ADAY 
 WOMAN
 
 THE WORKADAY 
 WOMAN 
 
 By violet hunt 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE CELEBRITY AT HOME,' 
 "SOONER OR LATER," ETC. 
 
 # 
 
 LONDON 
 T. WERNER LAURIE 
 
 CLIFFORD'S INN
 
 i^ii rights res*,-ved.]
 
 DEDICATED 
 TO 
 
 BARRY PAIN
 
 THE WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 It was the last day of the old year. The day had 
 been strangely quiet, quiet airs, quiet skies, quiet 
 streets, but that was because the eve of the feast 
 fell on a Saturday. Quiet people too, for I think 
 that about this time a sort of remorseful tender- 
 ness comes over the bullies and the nagsters, so 
 that they go about gently and deprecatingly, 
 hoping by one day's record sweetness to outface 
 the year's blusterings. One sees crusty old 
 gentlemen bestowing pennies on non- begging 
 children, sour old maids tipping favoured crossing 
 sweepers, and the children themselves playing 
 quietly, hushed by the unusual sense of imminence 
 that a purely arbitrary chronological arrangement, 
 skilfully manipulated, can give. 
 
 To me, the closed shop-fronts had a chaste air 
 of withdrawal, the public-house doors swung to on 
 their victims with a modified fervour. On the
 
 2 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 road that led past them the mild mud lay in ruts, 
 and the pavements neither ran with rain nor 
 glistered with frost, as I issued from the door of 
 the house I lived in and fared along some sombre 
 back streets to post Lady Violet Barnes' letters 
 and my own. Mine were real letters, hers were 
 chiefly seasonable wishes. She considered simply 
 decorated cards to be " such a nice way of not 
 neglecting people," and so I yearly ordered at 
 her stationers a quietly embossed and coloured 
 variety of printed aspirations for her friends' 
 welfare, addressed them, and posted them, and 
 the recipients, let us hope, were duly assuaged. 
 Carrying five particular examples, a few belated 
 ones that constituted a kind afterthought of Lady 
 Violet's, I sought the nearest pillar-box, whose 
 familiar crimson bulk has become part of my 
 dreams. 
 
 The blessed post! To Lady Violet Barnes, a 
 Londoner, a widow, it represents a mere casualty 
 of the day, a bore. 
 
 To Caroline Courtenay, her poor relation and 
 hired companion — an event, a porthole opened 
 on the world. 
 
 I am ashamed of the avidity with which my 
 ringless, chapped fingers lick the letter off the 
 salver that Staples, the tall, the much-bestreamered, 
 the magnificently efficient, brings in so negligently. 
 My mistress hardly cares to take the trouble of 
 sweeping up the monogrammed envelopes with 
 her knotted and gnarled claws. Yet she deeply
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 3 
 
 resents my reception of such poor correspondence 
 as falls to me. My letters are scanty enough, 
 goodness knows ! I have only one relation in 
 the world, my brother Perronet, and he is a sad 
 rolling stone, so that one never knows beforehand 
 what postmark his letters will bear. I believed 
 him, on this particular New Year's Eve, to be in 
 America. There is Mrs Iver Leadham, in whose 
 family I was governess till her daughters grew up, 
 but she never forgets me ; and Lady Violet is a 
 little jealous, for Mrs Iver Leadham is a person 
 of some consequence, and so far has not profited 
 by her intimacy with me to inaugurate an acquaint- 
 ance with my present employer. Then there is 
 Jehane Bruce, a worker like myself She is one 
 of those women who ought to have been a man — 
 a well-known and puzzling breed. She lives 
 alone in a flat, and pays its rent and supports 
 herself on regular journalism and occasional 
 fiction. Indeed, Lady Violet, seeing the name 
 of Jehane Bruce in the fatuous journal she takes 
 in week by week, printed large over a successful 
 shocking serial, took it into her head that she would 
 like to be able to say that she knew the author 
 of it, and made me send a card for one of her 
 lesser At Homes to my interesting friend. Miss 
 Jehane Bruce girded up her loins — i.e., laced her 
 boots carefully, which she would not have done 
 for every one, as she said afterwards — and came. 
 
 Jehane is a handsome, strong brunette of twenty- 
 eight years of age, with strange, wide blue eyes set in
 
 4 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 a dusky face, and hair that would be lovely if she 
 had only time to attend to it. It looks at present 
 as if all the flues of Bloomsbury had wafted their 
 smoke into its meshes. She has a magnificent 
 figrure, and takes stock-size. So her clothes are 
 fairly well made, but they soon give way under 
 undue strain and gusts of sudden pressure, while 
 " trade-spots " (Jehane calls them that, but I call 
 them pudding- or ink-ditto) have a fatal habit of 
 settling on the front breadth of her skirts. Her 
 boots are never cleaned ; she says it is hardly 
 worth while, as she is sure to muddy them afresh 
 every day, and her hard-worked slavey endorses 
 these convenient views with rapture. 
 
 So when Jehane "arrived early, and sent in her 
 card, informally, before her by the disgusted 
 Staples, I was fairly prepared for any appearance 
 she might present. I had said nothing, on mature 
 consideration, to Lady Violet, for after all, though 
 I dreaded it, it was not an absolute certainty that 
 Jehane's bodice and skirt would not be on terms, 
 and her flapping side pocket, crammed with what 
 she liked to call type-written communiques, openly 
 inviting inspection ! Both these lesions in the 
 scheme of perfect neatness, however, existed, 
 plus a vagrant chemisette that refused to remain 
 anchored to its moorings at her waist in spite of 
 the pins with which it was studded. 
 
 Lady Violet's well-known short-sightedness is 
 never available for the deficiencies and derelictions 
 of others, but has a wonderful way of coming up
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 5 
 
 to time when poor human nature is most in fault. 
 Of course she noticed it all. I could not manage 
 to give Jehane a hint to restore order until another 
 caller arrived and my literary friend was turned 
 over to me. 
 
 " Oh, my frontlet ! I never manage to put in 
 enough tent-pins, somehow. Thanks, very much," 
 she exclaimed easily, tugging with artistic futility 
 at her random attire and producing but a botched- 
 up and tottering cohesion. 
 
 Lady Violet said never another word to the 
 poor girl during the whole course of her visit, but 
 left her severely to me. She could and would say 
 for the future that the authoress of Rag, Tag, 
 and Bobtail had been in her house, but that " the 
 result had been unsatisfactory, somehow — she did 
 not believe in mixing " ! Jehane's mission in 
 Dampier Square was over. 
 
 She is the best-tempered woman in the world, 
 and it would be difficult to impress upon her the 
 fact that she had been snubbed. It was I who 
 objected to Lady Violet's rudeness on my friend's 
 account. For myself, I think I shall never feel 
 this particular pang again. There are not many 
 tender spots left in me : my sensibilities are en- 
 cysted in dullness, atrophied by the simplicity of 
 my life. I am patient, colourless, imperturbable 
 enough for my employer to say of me when she 
 wants, for a change, to say something civil, but not 
 unduly elating : " Upon my word, Caroline, you 
 were cut out by nature for a companion ! "
 
 6 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 To-day, when I had posted the pieces of extra 
 double-milled paper that prevented Lady Violet's 
 friends from feeling the sharpness of the serpent's 
 tooth, and purchased two shillings worth of penny 
 stamps and sixpenny worth of halfpenny stamps 
 and a packet of thin post-cards, and had patiently 
 allowed Lady Violet's dog to yap her little fill at 
 the only two tradesmen's carts that broke the 
 peace of this afternoon of rest, I turned my face 
 homeward. I wished to attain as soon as might 
 be Lady Violet's boudoir and a detestable volume 
 of memoirs, whose only merit appeared to be that 
 my mistress was distantly connected with the 
 senile author of them, a nonagenarian countess, 
 who even in her best days had never been witty. 
 Lady Violet had bidden me make a fuss for her 
 book at Mudie's— "One must support one's own 
 class, you know, Caroline ! " 
 
 Although I am never allowed to forget that I 
 am well over thirty, I may not have a latch-key. 
 Staples, the parlour - maid, has one. Staples, 
 summoned from her voluptuous tea, and licking 
 her disdainful lips, opened the door to me. We 
 keep three. Lady Violet has no official maid, 
 but "does" with me and Staples. Her fine wig, 
 lightly touched with grey, is my charge; and 
 sometimes, when the blood rises in spring and 
 provokes to high-spirited deeds of daring, I shake 
 my fist at it as it reposes tranquilly on its block, 
 waiting for my ministrations. A masseuse attends 
 weekly to my mistress's knees and her hands ; a
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 7 
 
 dressmaker calls periodically, and fits her with a 
 new dress. I sleep in a little bedroom that adjoins 
 hers, so that her lightest snore can come to my 
 ears. It does. 
 
 Lady Violet's father was the Earl of Permaine, 
 her husband — a commoner — died twelve years ago. 
 She never had a child. She likes the other sex, 
 and thinks that a really fine man can do no 
 wrong. I have no reason to suppose that she 
 ever seriously contemplated re-marriage, and it 
 is to the credit of the men generally, that she is 
 not invited to do so, for she has money and " is 
 a pretty good flirt," as another friend of mine, 
 Margot Bligh, says. There is more than a 
 suspicion of temperamental miserliness about her, 
 but, on the whole, she stumps up nobly for 
 charities, and shows a disposition to save pennies 
 rather than pounds. Of two qualities of goods 
 or materials she always chooses the best. She 
 is not really, as that forgiving Jehane remarked, 
 at all a bad sort ; she is only a cold, chill, absolutely 
 unlovable person. She carps, she contradicts, she 
 is witty at anybody's expense but her own, she 
 carefully stunts all aspiration and endeavour 
 towards the higher life in others. She is a " damp 
 woman," and lives in a " damper " square — to quote 
 my friend Jehane, — "shockingly rheumatic," she 
 says herself Indeed, she has not, nor ever has 
 had, any physical advantages whatever, except, 
 perhaps, the low, thrilling, resonant voice in which 
 she says disagreeable things.
 
 8 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 I went upstairs quietly, and doffed my outdoor 
 clothes. It is absolutely forbidden me to enter 
 into The Presence with the chill of the outside 
 clinging to my garments, I have to take off my 
 boots in the little entry below the staircase to 
 save the stair carpet. I may not use scent. I 
 may not do my hair " big." I may not wear a 
 jingling chatelaine, or dresses trimmed with beads 
 or buttons, for they are apt to scrape and spoil 
 the leather chairs in the dining-room. I have 
 at last mastered the secret of companionable 
 clothes, which need not be either pretty or attrac- 
 tive, but must look " good," the hardest quality of 
 all to compass on forty-five pounds a year. 
 
 Before descending I sat down and wrote a few 
 words in a book. I had no business to do it. It 
 is my one vice. That Lady Violet was probably 
 fuming in the drawing-room over my prolonged 
 absence only added zest to the performance. 
 
 I scribble a little every day. One never knows : 
 it may all come in some time. I write down my 
 own adventures, if I have any — my friends' 
 adventures when they recount them to me. I 
 dish them up in the form of short stories, which, 
 of course, I shall never publish. It amuses me, 
 and does no harm to anybody. 
 
 Still, I dared not keep Lady Violet waiting very 
 long. She had probably heard the front door bell 
 ring ; she always listens for that in the most 
 irritating way. I put away my writing materials, 
 and went downstairs defiantly. I opened the
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 9 
 
 drawing-room door so that it never thought of 
 jarring or squeaking — a carefully acquired art of 
 my own — and went up to Lady Violet, who sat 
 " with the expected shade of annoyance on her face. 
 As a matter of fact, it comes there often enough, 
 without obvious cause. I sometimes think that 
 this peevish expression means that poor Lady 
 Violet is incubating some tiresome internal com- 
 plaint. I have often noticed this symptom in 
 people who have sickened afterwards. But there 
 was no doubt about it to-day, it was the fault of 
 my dear diary. 
 
 I spoke softly, and pacified her as usual; told her 
 my little obvious tale of Fidgie's dangers and the 
 butchers' carts, handed her the post-cards and the 
 stamps, and accounted scrupulously for the three 
 and six. Lady Violet trusts nobody, least of all 
 me. If a sovereign is lost, I am under suspicion 
 till it turns up under the sofa cushion, or in 
 Fidgie's basket. I don't care. Nothing of that 
 kind matters. I took this post of companion to 
 my distant cousin, Lady Violet Barnes, of my own 
 free will when it was offered me. I did not know 
 shorthand or typewriting or any of the arts that 
 fit a woman for the more jaunty career of offices, 
 and the opportunity of interchange of ideas with 
 her fellow-clerks of either sex, coupled with that 
 chance of the reversion of the more than pro- 
 fessional interest of the male head of the establish- 
 ment, which looms, a divine possibility, in the 
 heated imaginations of the young ladies who assist
 
 lo A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 him. My brother, the only responsible relation I 
 have in the world, considers my position the only 
 suitable one to a youngs woman of quite decent 
 family, as I in the main am. Lady Violet 
 chaperons me. 
 
 " Is it cold out?" Lady Violet enquired. 
 
 " No, delightfully warm ! " 
 
 " You mean smothery and oppressive. I don't 
 approve of unseasonable weather. Well, now you 
 are in at last, why doesn't Staples bring tea?" 
 
 I did not say, " Because she has not finished her 
 own." I prefer to stand well with Staples, who is 
 a power in the land, so I merely replied : " Because 
 it isn't quite tea-time." 
 
 "Please don't be impertinent, Caroline. Then 
 may we have a bit of the dear Countess's 
 Memoirs ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; ten minutes of them." 
 
 " Not worth while beginning. You may talk 
 to me." 
 
 That is the hardest part of my task. Sooner 
 than wearily plough my way to the centre of Lady 
 Violet's intelligence in moods such as this, baulked 
 by her deafness, that she concentrates carefully to 
 a point, I think, on purpose to baffle me, I would 
 thankfully hoe a whole garden full of potatoes. 
 I began : 
 
 " Were you at all disturbed by the cats last 
 night in the Brownriggs' area?" 
 
 " I am always disturbed by everything," replied 
 Lady Violet guilelessly, unaware of the vocal
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN ii 
 
 testimony to the contrary that had come to my 
 ears in the course of the night. "Did you go 
 out and stop them ? " 
 
 " No ; but old Brownrigg flung up his window 
 and threw his toothbrush at them, and it pitched 
 on the plate-glass roof with a frightful clatter." 
 
 '" He flung what he could best spare, I suppose," 
 said Lady Violet, enjoying as usual a cheap shy 
 at her next-door neighbour, as the door opened 
 and let in Staples, not with tea, but a salver. 
 The inclination of her body, and the direction 
 of her eye, warned me that the missive lying 
 thereon was intended for me. 
 
 I raised my hand. Lady Violet, with the 
 reproof of my forwardness ready on her tongue, 
 changed it into a cross, " Oh, for you ! " The 
 slightly grubby note had been brought by a 
 district messenger, and I had to sign the receipt 
 while Lady Violet sat by, chafing at the interrup- 
 tion, and at the fact of such important machinery 
 being set in motion for a mere paid companion. 
 The note was from Jehane Bruce, and ran : 
 
 "Dear old Girl — (In haste). — Expensive 
 messenger, all in the hopes of getting you. You 
 will please come to my sty to-night as ever is. 
 Some jolly people are coming, got up chiefly by 
 telegram. Pity your old woman isn't on ! " (I 
 scruffled the letter up in my hand and glanced 
 instinctively at Lady Violet, who was regarding 
 me with a cold basilisk eye.) " If you were really 
 kind, you would appear early and help me cut
 
 12 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 sandwiches. Mariuscha, my new neighbour at 
 No. 25, is purely ornamental, so may I count on 
 you, 8.30? — Your grateful in advance, 
 
 Jehane." 
 
 We dine at 7.30. " Out of the question ! " I 
 muttered, folding up the letter. 
 
 "What is out of the question?" asked Lady 
 Violet eagerly. 
 
 I told her. 
 
 " I suppose you said that out loud so as to 
 get me to ask," Lady Violet said, " and to make 
 me out a dragon ! Do you want to go to this 
 thing?" 
 
 "Not particularly," I answered, "playing" her. 
 " You see. Miss Bruce lives at the very top of 
 some mansions in Bloomsbury, and there is no 
 lift, and she has all Bohemia let loose at her 
 parties." 
 
 " And do you disdain Bohemia ? " asked my 
 employer, as who should say, this upstart wants 
 to lift herself above her native mud. She went 
 on in her own domineering manner : " Nonsense ! 
 you had much better go and see your friends, 
 and enjoy yourself thoroughly, and bring me 
 back some amusing stories. I am not narrow." 
 
 In real truth, Bohemia, as I know it, is not 
 nearly improper or wicked enough for the heated 
 imaginations of the Lady Violets of the West End. 
 I mentally engaged to draw upon my imagination 
 freely, if Bohemia failed to come up to the mark,
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 13 
 
 and gratefully accepted Lady Violet's permission 
 to go and wallow in familiar garbage for the 
 evening, and bring a little of it away for her 
 delectation. Of course I wanted to go. I was 
 very fond of Jehane and some other girls who 
 were sure to be there. I wanted to see Mariuscha, 
 the new ornamental neighbour, and, moreover, I 
 have a strain of Scots blood in me which made me 
 hanker to see the New Year in properly, under 
 any, even the most revoltingly third-rate, circum- 
 stances. However Bohemian, Jehane's friends 
 were sure to join hands and sing " Auld Lang 
 Syne" as the clock struck twelve. 
 
 Lady Violet had her reading, and we dined 
 earlier, through her excessive and momentary 
 complaisance. She positively hugged the idea 
 of my leaving her to seek my own native depths, 
 and fully meant, herself, to enjoy a lonely evening, 
 for a change, and for purposes of future recrimina- 
 tion : " Caroline left me, positively left me — on the 
 most sacred evening of the whole year — to spend 
 it with some mad aliens." Oh, how well I knew 
 it, but I had counted the cost and found it well 
 worth while ! Staples was to give her her drops, 
 and she would go to bed at ten so as to "get off" 
 before twelve, and so pass the great climax in 
 unconsciousness. 
 
 The sensation of unaccustomed liberty at night 
 was almost too acute to be delightful as I sallied 
 forth, with a latch-key actually, for once, and made 
 my way to Hardicanute Mansions, Bloomsbury.
 
 14 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 It was, as I have said, unusually warm and mild, 
 and perhaps, according to Lady Violet, a trifle 
 " smothery." All the better, we should be able 
 to go out on Jehane's large flat roof and hear the 
 bells nicely. I had on my one black evening dress, 
 with a clean tucker in it, threaded and tied with 
 a narrow black velvet ribbon. It fastened in front : 
 all my things nearly do. I prefer not to have to 
 ask Staples to " do up my back." I had piloted 
 my winter imitation-sealskin jacket carefully over 
 the sleeves and poised my hat very gingerly, so as 
 not to spoil my hair. It was nothing very wonder- 
 ful, but I had ventured to do it " big " on this 
 occasion. Not having procured a dispensation 
 from Lady Violet, I avoided letting her pass my 
 toilet in review, and bolted out of the house. I 
 had put on my two rings, and the little pearl 
 necklace that my godmother Hamilton left me 
 in her will on condition that I was not to sell it. 
 It is worth a good deal, and looks it. Lady Violet 
 does not allow me to wear it when on duty ; she 
 says that it suggests impropriety worn by a woman 
 in my position. That is just what I rather like ; 
 one is apt to have these fancies, however respect- 
 able one is. 
 
 I was as wildly excited as if I were going to 
 meet my fate ; but, as a matter of fact, I was 
 not, but those of my girl friends instead, to whom, 
 however, I will give as much place in this tale 
 as to myself. I am too retiring a disposition to 
 be my own heroine.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Jehane Bruce, actually flourishing a duster, met 
 me at the door of her flat, whereon was nailed her 
 cheaply-printed visiting-card. The milkman had 
 left the tokens of his professional attention on the 
 door-mat, which looked as if Jehane's chow had 
 been working for days to carry it away bodily- 
 But with my friend charity and sweeping began 
 at home ; her jurisdiction distinctly ended on the 
 threshold, and the duster stood only, as it were, 
 for the banner of hospitality. She was much 
 excited, and pointed wildly to the further flight of 
 grey macadamised stair that led on to the roof. 
 The trap-door that terminated it was open. 
 
 " I am afraid it is too misty for stars ! " she 
 exclaimed ; " but isn't it warm and lovely for 
 September — December, I mean ? We can all 
 swarm up there presently to hear the wild bells. 
 So sweet of you, Carrie, to come early ! There's 
 a railing all round. You can't fall unless you 
 want to. Not that working women ever pine 
 to commit suicide, do they? I have got some 
 really jolly men coming to-night — idlers all ! One 
 
 IS
 
 i6 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 of them, Herbert Langshire, is quite millionairish. 
 I met him on a Kindness to Animals Committee 
 that I was reporting. Awfully smart people go in 
 for those horse ambulances, do you know, and 
 take stray cats to their bosoms. Then Casimir 
 Livingston — he is an engineer, I believe, but 
 could live without doing anything, easily. Funny, 
 isn't it, in our set, how the women who work 
 entertain the men who don't ? " 
 
 " Millionaires work at managing a lot of money, 
 don't they ? " 
 
 " That is not quite the same thing as sweating 
 at making a very little of it, is it ? And oh, your 
 brother's coming." 
 
 "Perry! Well, he doesn't work at either. I often 
 wonder how he pays for his opulent waxed fronts. 
 I am sure his shirts must cost him at least ten and 
 six, and they weren't got at Faith Brothers ! How 
 did you get hold of his address ? " 
 
 " I didn't get hold of it. I don't know it from 
 Adam. A girl is bringing him." 
 
 " Another ! Well, I might have known ! " said 
 I. " But still, I shall be glad to see him, and any 
 charmer he happens to have got in tow. Look 
 here, can't we go in and begin tidying ? Jehane, 
 your hall door-mat wants mending." 
 
 " I know. I've tripped up in it five times to-day 
 already. Once with the milk. Reduced that con- 
 siderably in quantity ! I suppose we had better 
 take it away altogether, or we shall have the four 
 idle young men — shall we call them the four
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 17 
 
 calenders ? What are calenders ? — breaking their 
 aristocratic shins over it. It isn't often men come 
 up here. Mustn't discourage the gentle, timid 
 creatures. Here goes ! Heave it over to Louy. 
 Remove your body, Louy ; we want to get in." 
 
 The slavey, with a cottage loaf pressed to her 
 heart, was standing in the entrance to receive the 
 mat and listen to our agreeable conversation. She 
 was by way of cutting slices of bread and butter 
 with assiduity. 
 
 " For goodness' sake, child, don't cut yourself 
 and 'blug' the loaf!" said her considerate mis- 
 tress. 
 
 "Suppose I undertake the sandwiches ?" said I. 
 
 " They will be cleaner if you do," said Jehane. 
 " But come and take your things off first. In here. 
 You know the way to my tiring room. The box 
 room — in strict confidence ! Wait a jiff. I'll light 
 up. God, what have I put my foot into? " 
 
 A ripping, tearing sound was audible. I knew 
 well enough what I had put my head through — a 
 really perfect and well-formed cobweb of long 
 standing, which I wiped patiently away, while 
 Jehane searched for the matches. She found them 
 at last, and cordially invited me to remove my 
 goloshes and "stick up" my hair in about a 
 farthing's worth of looking-glass set up on the 
 drawer tops. Then, adjusted as far as was possible, 
 I issued forth into the salon, where I knew, as a 
 matter of fact and congratulation, Jehane habitually 
 slept. 
 
 B
 
 i8 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " Problem — vvhere's the bed ? " she asked, gaily 
 as usual. 
 
 " Everything in the room, pretty nearly, looks as 
 if it might be it," I answered, allowing my gaze to 
 wander round the well-known little apartment that 
 sheltered a brave, hard-working, if slip-shod, girl. 
 It was perfectly full, but absolutely unfurnished. 
 You could not see the landlord's cheap wall-paper 
 for the Turkish hangings ; the seats were com- 
 posed of packing-cases, covered with bazaar and 
 cathedral stuff, dhurries and chasubles and orfreys, 
 built into the semblance of divans. The table, 
 which was not a table, was covered with a gorgeous 
 Syrian table-cover of no particular value. The 
 floor was stained some irregular dark shade, like 
 the Nut Brown Maid's complexion, and many rugs, 
 chivied by the devious feet of the day's visitors, 
 had collected shuddering in the corners. Jehane 
 recovered them and spread them out. I held my 
 breath for fear of germs. 
 
 " And so you really sleep in your sitting-room, 
 Jehane? I must say I think it a very unhealthy 
 practice." 
 
 " I daresay it would be for most people," replied 
 my friend serenely, " but I am so absolutely 
 antiseptic, you see. Oh, don't .it in that chair! 
 It is feeling bad ; I have noticed it. Don't sit 
 anywhere, but let us come along and see what 
 Louy is about — that is, if you think the lighting is 
 all right ? " 
 
 There were Chinese lanterns and fairy lights,
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 19 
 
 and night-lights and wicks floating in jam-pots 
 full of oil. The smell was faintly religious, assisted 
 by the incense which Jehane had been burning. 
 I dismissed the subject of lighting, saying, " We are 
 all old enough to be grateful for small mercies in 
 the way of light," and passed into the kitchen, 
 where Louy, having cut a few dozen jaw-splitting 
 sandwiches, had turned her attention to the glasses, 
 which she was rubbing up previous to their reception 
 of her mistress's own personal mixture. Jehane 
 called her punch " Hell Broth," and brewed it from 
 a special, heady, inflammatory recipe of her grand- 
 mother's. " It is well to have the old-fashioned 
 kind of grandmother," she always said, " and trot 
 her out when necessary." 
 
 "May I wipe the glasses?" said I, hastily sacri- 
 ficing a clean pocket-handkerchief in the interests 
 of civilisation. 
 
 " Yes, please do ; and, Louy " 
 
 "Yes, miss ? " 
 
 " Something's smelling in the salon!' 
 
 Louy's face betrayed a conviction that such a 
 circumstance was not of unusual occurrence, but 
 volunteered, in her own vernacular, to go and see 
 " what was up." 
 
 " No matter ! " said Jehane, arresting her ; " leave 
 it alone, and it will come home — I mean, pass off. 
 Now arrange the sandwiches on the Spode dish. 
 Get it down, and mind not to take it by the 
 cracked side. See it's clean first, Louy." 
 
 " It's clean, miss," said Louy, reaching it down
 
 20 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 from the shelf and wetting her finger in her 
 mouth, previously to passing it tenderly over the 
 plate ; " leastways, now it is." 
 
 " Oh, Louy, you pig ! " remarked her mistress 
 complacently. She then changed the subject, 
 observing : " I say, Carrie, you know Mariuscha 
 offered to lend me her room downstairs to over- 
 flow into, but I refused — breaks up the party 
 rather, don't you think ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, it does. Why is she called Mariuscha ?" 
 
 " Her name is Mary Anna Lancaster. Once 
 she went on a visit to Russia. I am not sure 
 her father hadn't a speck of Russian blood. Her 
 flat is the one just below me. Her mother and 
 sister have one in the next block." 
 
 " What a funny arrangement ! " 
 
 "Well, they were all ruined some time ago, 
 before they came here. Argentines, I think, and 
 then the father died. And they each had a 
 hundred a year out of the wreck." 
 
 " But why don't they pool their incomes? " 
 
 " Don't know. Mariuscha's flat is nicer than 
 theirs, though she's only one. She likes her 
 freedom, I suppose. The younger sister — Michelle 
 — undertakes the old mother and does all the 
 being domestic. And " 
 
 " And what ? " 
 
 " Well, one doesn't altogether like to drop on 
 a pal, but there's something slightly queer about 
 it — although I am quite sure it is quite all right. 
 An old gentleman "
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 21 
 
 " They are the worst." 
 
 "Oh, you mistake me — not that sort of old 
 gentleman at all, but an innocent old crank, 
 more, don't you know? She goes to stay with 
 him down at his place in the country, and 
 at his house in town. He takes her to the 
 theatres and buys her pretty frocks and fans, 
 and runs her generally." 
 
 " I don't see what more he could do." 
 
 "Yes, but I'm forgetting to tell you that there's 
 a wife about — or was — I seem to think I saw 
 something in the papers about her dying a short 
 while ago? I wonder? And I am not sure 
 that Mush' stays with him any more ; her death 
 would stop it. But you know that Mush' never 
 explains. She's a bit of a dark horse, and always 
 will be ; it's her style." 
 
 "Goes with her dark and stormy beauty, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 " How on earth did you guess that Mariuscha 
 was dark ? Yes, her hair is as black as a crow. 
 Her face is pale — mat-white, like magnolia or 
 pure white Castile soap. She always makes me 
 think of a Sonia or a Vera — some revolutionary 
 heroine of sorts. Bit selfish, though, and they 
 aren't." 
 
 "Is she clever?" 
 
 " Not particularly, I should think, but writes a 
 beautiful hand. She is sec' to an M.P. for an 
 hour or so every day. Of course, there's a scandal 
 about that. Mariuscha just lets 'em talk — not
 
 22 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 much originality or initiative about her, don't you 
 know. She just dresses beautifully and smokes 
 all day like a furnace and there it is. I say, 
 shut up ! Here she comes." 
 
 Mariuscha, who came drifting in, with a black 
 lace shawl wrapped mantilla-wise over her head, 
 was very tall and stately, with a cold blue eye 
 and a splendid walk and figure. The first thing 
 she said after " How do you do ? " was " Have you 
 got a light?" 
 
 The matches were lost again. I found them, 
 and we took up our positions in the salon. The 
 party had begun. 
 
 I noticed that Mariuscha sat down in a position 
 that fully demonstrated her extremely pleasing 
 length of limb. She was wise. I, personally, did 
 not think her attitude quite nice, but still I reserved 
 judgment until some men should come in and 
 then I should notice whether she modified or 
 accentyated it. 
 
 " Mich' asked me to tell you," Mariuscha said, 
 " that she hoped to come in presently, after she 
 has seen mother to bed." 
 
 " Oh, I am glad ! " exclaimed the good Jehane. 
 " I always want Mich' to have some fun. She 
 looks ill and below par, I think." 
 
 " I haven't noticed," said Mush' gently, smoking 
 away. 
 
 "It is such a pity Mich' doesn't smoke," con- 
 tinued Jehane ; " it might soothe her." 
 
 " Yes, but mother wouldn't like it. Mich' can't
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 23 
 
 do any of those things. Do I hear sonie of your 
 guests paddHng about on the roof, Jehane ? " 
 
 " Oh, stop them ! Collar them ! " cried our 
 hostess, jumping up and rushing to the door. 
 " It would be most disillusioning for them to 
 go up now. Take away the romance of seeing 
 the New Year in altogether ! Here, Mr — Mr — 
 I am sure I don't know which one of you it is ! 
 But, anyhow, stop — come off that roof!" 
 
 She disappeared, and we heard her outside 
 scrambling on the ceiling, as it were ; presently 
 she returned with two embarrassed specimens of 
 the other sex. 
 
 " I found them coyly embracing chimney-stacks, 
 poor dears ! " she explained, out of breath. " Here 
 — let me introduce Mr Herbert Langshire — Miss 
 Lancaster — Miss Courtenay. Mr Peronnet 
 Courtenay — Miss Courtenay " 
 
 She stopped, laughing. It was my own brother. 
 " What are you doing in London, Perry ? " I 
 asked him. 
 
 " Nothing ! " answered Perry with absolute 
 truthfulness. He had nothing more to say to his 
 sister, but pursued Jehane with a matter of some 
 urgency. 
 
 " I say, Miss Bruce, Miss Cresswell " — he men- 
 tioned a name heretofore unknown to me — " Miss 
 Cresswell is getting her breath at the bottom of 
 your stairs, and wanted me to go back for her." 
 
 " Then go back for her," said Jehane shortly, 
 and we all stood waiting for the exceedingly
 
 24 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 effective entry of a pretty, shrinking creature in 
 blue, with a large tulle bow at the back of her 
 neck. Oh, how I know those bows — it is always 
 the same kind of woman who wears them ! 
 
 While she was being introduced to Herbert 
 Langshire, Perry whispered ribald remarks to me. 
 
 " Say, isn't he like a Herbert ? Herberts are 
 always rich and smug. Carrie, a word in your 
 ear! Do contrive to take poor, dear Desdemona 
 to tidy her hair. I promised her you would be 
 a mother to her." 
 
 " Perry dear, she is surely older than me. Still, 
 I will. Did you untidy it in the cab ? And are 
 you sure she doesn't like it like that?" 
 
 " Anyway, a proper human girl likes to have the 
 chance of looking at herself in the glass before 
 she affronts millionaires, and what not," Perry 
 retorted. " I speak who know. That is just why 
 women adore me, because I have not a mind above 
 those little details." 
 
 " Who is she ? " 
 
 " Nobody — same as I always contrive to pick up. 
 I seem to have a constitutional disability to collect 
 women who will be of any use to me in my career. 
 So I have chucked a career. I mean to love nice 
 women all my life, and spend my little all of wits 
 on them. Now, I see there's a diversion — take her." 
 
 Miss Desdemona Cresswell was very pleasant to 
 me in the box room where I led her, and tried to 
 do its barren honours. 
 
 " Fancy my bringing your own brother here to
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 25 
 
 meet you ! " said she, dabbing her face with a 
 powder-puff that came mysteriously out of a bunch 
 of artificial violets she wore on the front of her 
 gown. " What a perfect dear he is ! " 
 
 " Yes ; everybody finds him so." 
 
 " Oh, not everybody, surely, not ordinary people 
 don't, do they ? " she said deprecatingly, and I took 
 a liking to Desdemona from that moment. I do 
 like women who are guileless enough to translate 
 their first thought into words, it is quite uncatlike 
 to be transparent, 
 
 " Oh, my hair ! " she went on. " How ever will I 
 get it anything like in this glass? Doesn't Miss 
 Bruce ever want to look nice ? " 
 
 " I'll hold up the glass for you, to get a tilt." 
 
 " Thank you. Oh, these chiffon bows ! What a 
 bother they are ! You are kind and thoughtful — 
 just like Perry ! You know, of course, that we are 
 very intimate — call each other by our Christian 
 names ? " 
 
 "Of course you do," said I, with a largeness of 
 manner that disconcerted her. I supposed she 
 was anxious to tell me that she considered herself 
 engaged to Perry, and I did not want to be forced 
 to impart to her what I knew of my brother's views 
 of the state of betrothal. We returned to the salon 
 just as Margot Bligh was getting in past Louy, 
 who thought it great fun showing people in, and 
 opposing a prominent part of her person to their 
 free entry. However, everybody knew Louy, and 
 Margot did not allow her to interfere with the
 
 26 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 impressiveness of her appearance in a coat - like 
 sort of garment with angel sleeves, which I knew 
 of old, and did not consider suited well with 
 her determined little face. Jehane introduced her 
 formally as Miss Margaret Bligh. She was care- 
 less — the storm burst, as I knew it would : 
 
 '' M argot, dear — do you mind? I am in the 
 Academy Catalogue as Margot, last year, with 
 ' Crabbed Age and Youth.' " 
 
 " No, I don't mind a bit," answered Jehane easily ; 
 " Margot, May, or Maggie, it's all the same to 
 Jenny. My own name is really Jane, too, as it 
 happens. I say, did you sell ' Crabbed Youth 
 and Age ' ? " 
 
 Margot patiently corrected her misreading of 
 the title, and went on ; " No, not yet, and it's an 
 awful shame, considering I am the gold medallist 
 of 99 ! It is all jealousy, you know " 
 
 " Here, tell Mr Langshire all about your woes ! " 
 said Jehane, foisting her off in view of a newcomer 
 who was at that moment blocking the doorway. 
 A certain look in her kind friend's eyes warned 
 Margot of Langshire's millionairishness, and in a 
 very few moments I heard her telling him all about 
 " Crabbed Age and Youth " that so sadly hung fire 
 and adorned the walls of Laburnam Cottage, 
 Bayswater, instead of some one's picture gallery. 
 I saw her card come readily out of her pocket, 
 and the man called Langshire blush and say he 
 would call on Sunday week without fail. This 
 arrangement completed, to Margot's intense and
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 27 
 
 visible satisfaction — she looked like a mother who 
 has just married a daughter off — I noticed he 
 contrived to devote himself to Mariuscha, who 
 was by far the prettiest woman there and the most 
 disdainful. Her card was not always popping in 
 and out of her pocket ; in her case it was the man 
 who would beg the woman to let him call and 
 her cold permission would but serve to inflame 
 his desire to put on an uncomfortable frock-coat 
 and a tall hat and go and sit half an hour in a 
 toy flat like a pill-box at the feet of a haughty 
 divinity. If Mariuscha had had a picture to sell 
 it would have gone off like hot rolls. That is 
 always the way. 
 
 I got into conversation with Mrs Coles, a lazy, 
 frivolous woman of business connections who 
 likes to live in Bohemia — sooner than be socially 
 ostracised by her betters. People abuse her, 
 mock her, chaff her, and say that " she is too 
 silly about her children," but they go to her 
 " lovely parties " at her house in West Kensington, 
 where one meets everybody, without exception, to 
 whom exception could possibly be taken. She 
 divulged to me the secret of the success of these 
 entertainments. 
 
 " I just go round asking everybody nice that I 
 meet. I always have a card or two with me ; I'll 
 give one to you. I have no shame about asking 
 celebrities ; it can do no harm to ask them, and if 
 they are stuck up and don't come, I am none the 
 worse, and I can always say : 'It's a pity that
 
 28 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 poor So-and-so suffers from swelled head.' Lots 
 of people would sooner come than have that said 
 of them. In the end they do honour me, even 
 the most haughty of them. There was Bully 
 Broughton, the backwoods man, I just battered 
 him with invitations. At last I put on the back 
 of one of my cards : ' Must you snub me a 
 thirteenth time ? — so unlucky ! ' and that melted 
 him, and he came, and I have never given an 
 At Home without him, since." 
 
 " He enjoyed himself? " 
 
 " He knows one thing that at my house he will 
 meet no frumps or frowsts, but jolly people who 
 have done something, even if it is something bad. 
 Sin magnificently, says Peer Gynt. They are 
 famous enough, but perhaps they are not admitted 
 to his clubs, or his wife won't have them in the 
 house. / don't care. I ask everybody, if only 
 they are clever and amuse me. Genius must not 
 be bound by conventional rules, must it? It is a 
 law unto itself: restraint would cramp or kill it. I 
 feel very strongly on that point. I ask pretty girls, 
 too. I am not afraid of them. Margot Bligh — 
 you know her .? — is a capital draw. I never could 
 have that funny old mother of hers, though." 
 
 " Mrs Bligh is a handsome old lady." 
 
 " Yes ; and Margot dresses her quite nicely, for 
 the house. But the old are just blots on tea- 
 parties. Margot quite agrees with me. I wonder 
 if she will make anything of Herbert Langshire? 
 He has a house in Hans Place, and is furnishing
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 29 
 
 it slowly and solemnly. He is Mrs Iver Leadham's 
 brother." 
 
 " Oh, of course he is ! " I exclaimed at once, 
 recognising the connection with my old employer. 
 
 " Why, do you know him ? I must get }-ou to 
 introduce me. Jehane seems to have for- 
 gotten to." 
 
 " I have never spoken to him in my life," said I, 
 moving hastily away. A move was being made 
 for the roof, and I wanted to attach myself to 
 Mariuscha's shy sister, who had come in, and who 
 struck me as a pale, washed - out likeness of 
 Mariuscha, soft, deprecating, and attractive — to 
 me. But she explained that she could not stay 
 to see the New Year in, but must go back to 
 her mother. 
 
 " But why, Mich' ? " clamoured Jehane. " Isn't 
 your mother asleep long ago ? Need she leave 
 us, Mariuscha? It is too bad." 
 
 " Mother might wake up and be frightened, and, 
 anyhow, she would loathe hearing the bells all 
 alone," Mariuscha said in clear, chilling tones. 
 
 " You see, Mush' says I ought to go," said ]\Iich'. 
 " Good night, all ! I say, Mush" " — in a whisper — 
 " I see you have torn your skirt. Bring it round 
 on Sunday and I will mend it." 
 
 " All right, I won't forget," answered Mariuscha, 
 without taking her cigarette out of her mouth, and 
 her blue eyes fixed on a new arrival with a 
 certain unusual intentness. 
 
 " Well, Mich' dear, if you must go, you must,"
 
 30 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 said Jehane; "but I think it is a shame. Taste 
 the Hell Broth before you go, anyway." 
 
 " It would go straight to my head." 
 
 " Poor Mich' has an absurdly weak head," added 
 Mariuscha. "Well, good night, old girl! I feel 
 sure mother has wakened up ! " 
 
 The shy, little bullied thing departed. Perry 
 saw her downstairs, somewhat to the disgust of 
 Miss Cresswell. Perry, however, never allows one 
 woman to make him neglectful of another. He 
 came back in time to fling a rainbow scarf of 
 chiffon over Desdemona's shoulders ; indeed, he 
 wanted to fling soft scarves over all the women's 
 shoulders, but was forestalled in many cases. The 
 gentle, charming, high-collared young man who 
 had arrived last tried very hard to perform this 
 office for Mariuscha, to whom he had only just 
 been introduced. She, however, refused to cover 
 her head at all. 
 
 " I never take cold," she told him icily, un- 
 provocatively. 
 
 The young man looked at her. I know that look, 
 disapproving but fascinated. He was Mariuscha's 
 slave from that moment.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Herbert Langshire had also loosely evolved 
 thoughts of annexing Mariuscha for the voyage 
 on to the roof, but he was shy, and Miss Bligh 
 threw herself on his mercy, so he perforce escorted 
 her to a safe corner on the vast dark plateau, 
 dotted with other and alien waiting groups, for it 
 was at the disposition of all the happy residents 
 of Hardicanute Mansions. I had to resign myself 
 to go up with Mrs Coles, who stuck to me — took 
 me under her wing, as she would have called it. 
 Why in this world is it always the people one 
 does not take to who freeze on to one ? 
 
 " Mind the blacks ! " begged Jehane. " It is the 
 only drawback to this lovely roof. Don't lean on 
 anything ! " 
 
 " Except me ! " said my brother. " My black 
 doesn't come off, I can assure you." 
 
 I have heard people hint that Perry is forward, 
 fast, and vulgar. The people who say so are 
 those to whom he has not permitted himself to 
 say things of this sort. They certainly resent his 
 impertinence to others. I cannot see it myself ; I 
 am very fond of Perry, though he is not the 
 
 31
 
 32 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 slightest use to me as a brother. His ingenuous 
 face and champion-of-all-women style effectually 
 discounts the risque speeches he sometimes does 
 permit himself. Perry has a great success in many 
 and various circles. His well-bred Bohemianism 
 interests people. He cleverly makes the best of 
 both worlds, and works them to his profit. 
 Countesses have him at their country houses, and 
 get him to arrange their theatricals for them. 
 Peers with yachts ask him to sail their expensive 
 toy to and fro for them from Bembridge to Cowes. 
 He is a capital shot, and shoots parvenus' pheasants 
 for them. He escorts pretty schoolgirls back to 
 keep their terms at Brighton or Folkestone with 
 the full confidence of their mothers, who are 
 pleased to treat him as a boy, though Perry is 
 thirty. He has kept his curly hair. 
 
 Miss Cresswell made much out of the brief 
 passage from garret to roof, clinging to my brother, 
 doing her best to incur chimney-stacks, stumbling 
 over leaden groins where no groins were. 
 
 " I am afraid I am a horrid nuisance," she kept 
 repeating, and Perry answering: "Not at all, I 
 like your pretty whimpering ! " Any other woman 
 would have stopped dead at that ! 
 
 Mariuscha, who was a good deal taller than 
 either of her attendant squires, made no demands 
 on them. "You know this is my roof, too," she 
 said. " I could find my way all over it in the 
 darkest dark!" 
 
 For it was not really dark. The glow from the
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 33 
 
 public-house on one side reflected a pale watery 
 radiance on the leads, and the lights of London, 
 which even to this day I am apt to consider 
 fearfully as the evidence of some great city con- 
 flagration, irradiated the sky all round. Only by 
 going to the edge of the platform, however, could 
 one see the light ; the middle of it was so dark 
 that our figures and faces were indistinguishable. 
 There was, of course, no moon on such a damp 
 night. In the dimness, the uncovered shoulders 
 of Mariuscha seemed positively to shine. She 
 was standing as far away from any support- 
 ing chimney - stack as might be, and her flesh 
 looked cold. She was the only one of us with 
 uncovered shoulders. Suddenly she threw down 
 her newly - begun cigarette ; it was the outward 
 manifestation of a subterranean fit of temper, I 
 think. It lay there smoking red, and Jehane 
 screamed : " For goodness' sake, Mush', don't set 
 the place on fire ! " 
 
 We all laughed. Though a beautiful rich young 
 man was standing near her, devouring her with 
 his eyes, Mariuscha's thoughts were a long way 
 off that roof. She had her hand on one of the 
 pendants of a necklace she wore — emeralds, I think 
 — and I was sure that it was connected with her 
 pensive fit and her previous outburst of temper. 
 I did not think the necklace could really be com- 
 posed of emeralds : it would have been so much 
 too valuable to be possessed by a girl in her 
 position, and I nudged Perry quietly and asked 
 
 C
 
 34 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 him if he had any idea what the necklace was 
 composed of. 
 
 "Emeralds. Antique, but Ai," said Perry 
 shortly. He was not interested in that sort of 
 girl at all, and he went back to Desdemona. 
 Herbert Langshire, who, I observed, was very 
 weak if gentlemanly, left Mariuscha's side in 
 response to a clumsily provocative movement 
 from Miss Bligh. Mariuscha made no effort to 
 retain him. Neither did she welcome him, when 
 he presently sidled back to her. Miss Bligh's com- 
 paratively small supply of magnetism having failed. 
 I watched all these unconscious strategic move- 
 ments of parties ; I had none of my own to conduct, 
 but just stood patiently beside Mrs Coles and 
 Jehane, and listened to them chattering away — 
 good journalese — indeed, Jehane, from the way 
 she talked, might have been engaged to report 
 brightly the advent of the New Year for one of 
 the new Halfpennies. A stale old subject, but she 
 could be counted on to do her best with it. At 
 any rate, she was enjoying herself, and meant us 
 to enjoy ourselves, too. Louy had toiled up " at 
 twice," as she put it, with a small table and 
 glasses for the Hell Broth, and we now stood 
 awkwardly, each with a full beaker of it in our 
 hands, to welcome the momentous striking of the 
 hour. The broad face of Perry's Waterbury 
 gleamed as he held it poised playfully so that all 
 might see it. He made nervous jokes, and laughed 
 at them himself Perry is a properly con-
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 35 
 
 stituted young man, and feels emotion in suitable 
 places. 
 
 I could not help thinking, as I stood there, 
 waiting for the clock to strike, and loose our 
 tongues and break the tension, how different a 
 world it was from that which would have met in 
 drawing-rooms like Lady Violet's on a parallel 
 occasion. The relations of the sexes here were a 
 little altered. The woman gained character at the 
 expense of the man. Our off-hand, independent 
 manner was, with most of us, a result of a 
 consciousness that these decorous, black-coated 
 figures were less to be regarded in the light of 
 fellow bread-winners than in that of playmates. 
 Except for the inevitable femininity that reared 
 its snake head here and there among us, we women 
 all preserved a careless freedom of pose that had 
 no relevance to the standards set up by the 
 artificial figure-heads of sex whom Jehane had 
 asked to help us to enjoy our party. We should 
 have to rise betimes next morning, not they ; we 
 should insist on paying our cab-fares home, or, 
 supposing our abodes lay near enough to permit 
 of walking and we were persuaded to take their 
 proffered arms, we should not really need them, 
 but would be moved by a pitying politeness to 
 avail ourselves of assistance that impeded. 
 
 There was now no noise of cabs rolling hither and 
 thither ; their fares were gathered behind closed 
 doors, waiting the supreme moment, with glasses 
 poised and hands ready to fold over that of their
 
 36 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 fortuitous neighbour, and their Hps attuned to 
 " Auld Lang Syne." All except the rips, the out- 
 casts, the battered at life's feast, to whom anni- 
 versaries are not ; and the Lady Violets, perhaps, 
 tossing in their downy beds, or enabled artificially 
 to sleep through the trying hour of commemora- 
 tion. 
 
 " What time is it ? " asked our Jehane, her honest 
 voice trembling. 
 
 " Ten to," answered my brother in equally shaky 
 tones. No one asked me to speak, but I believe 
 I too suffered the influences of the season. Mrs 
 Coles murmured something about Big Babsie and 
 Wee Oneie — her children, presumably. Margot 
 Bligh screwed up a pair of perfectly dry eyes to 
 see how we all " came " ? She was an artist before 
 everything. 
 
 In five minutes more Jehane cried, excitedly : 
 
 " Fill your glasses, ladies and gentlemen ! I feel 
 as if I ought to say gentlemen and ladies for a 
 change. I hope you all appreciate the Hell Broth ? 
 Unless you do, you needn't fill your glasses quite 
 full. Everybody can't like Hell Broth " 
 
 " It is a perfectly gorgeous drink. Miss Bruce ! " 
 said Perry gallantly, seconding Louy's efforts to fill 
 all our glasses while it was yet time. He finally 
 insisted on the good little slavey's having her 
 portion. I saw his deterrent grimace as he sipped 
 his own — nobody else did, or else Perry would 
 not be loved as he is. I went boldly ahead with 
 the stinging mess, for even if it did disagree with
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 37 
 
 me, I should not be crosser next day on Hell Broth 
 than Lady Violet would be on toast-and-water. 
 
 " Good resolutions, ladies ! " cried Jehane ; " be 
 ready with them ! " 
 
 " Oh, hang good resolutions ! " said Perry ; " they 
 never come to anything. Something less depress- 
 ing. Good wishes, now for the year to come ! " 
 
 " I wish I may sell my old wall-flower of a 
 picture ! " said Margot. 
 
 " I hope I shall get on to another paper. I 
 want to get on to all the papers," said Jehane 
 loudly, to all whom it might or might not concern. 
 
 " And I hope I shall manage to get my novel 
 — when I write it — serialised — or syndicated." 
 Desdemona Cresswell seconded her with these 
 dark words. 
 
 " I hope I shall get to know the author of 
 Imposthumesl' said Mrs Coles — and added hastily : 
 " And that Wee Oneie may get over his stutter ! " 
 
 I was standing close to Mariuscha. She said 
 very quietly, as if she did not wish to be overheard, 
 but would not care if she were : " I hope for a 
 death." 
 
 She fingered her necklace. It was evidently 
 connected with this death in her mind. I moved, 
 and she noticed that I had overheard her. Most 
 people would have perpetrated a little deprecatory 
 laugh, or so on, but Mariuscha was not one to 
 condescend to apologise for herself. To me there 
 was even something fine and fascinating about her 
 cold, proud selfishness.
 
 38 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 I did not hope at all. I have long since left 
 off hoping; it is healthier. 
 
 Twelve o'clock struck, and Desdemona burst 
 dramatically into tears. I should have said she 
 was the one person among us who had least to 
 reproach herself with, but one never knows ! 
 
 " Well, Desdy, you are emotional," said Jehane 
 kindly. " Quite creditable of her, isn't it ? You 
 see, we working girls are really not altogether 
 mannish, after all." She appealed to the black- 
 coats, who were decorously pretending not to 
 notice Desdemona's lapse. " Shall I lend you 
 my pocket-handkerchief? I haven't one to my 
 name. Louy uses them as berthes and fichus 
 on her Sundays out, I do believe! Never mind, 
 old girl, you are quite in the picture ! " 
 
 " Dry up, sweet ! " said Perry, producing the 
 necessary napkin. 
 
 I began to gather that these two were engaged, 
 or ought to be. It would represent Perry's eighth 
 engagement. He had a way of taking up con- 
 tracts cheerfully, without clear views as to their 
 future fulfilment. He is a dear boy. 
 
 Then we had the usual concomitants of a 
 London anniversary. Our ears were assailed on 
 all sides by the motley mixture of bells, cat-calls, 
 buzzers, hooters, and all the grotesque noises by 
 which modern materialists choose to usher in the 
 ceremonial sentiment of the past. It is perhaps 
 artistically suitable that it should be the calls of 
 labour which most loudly signalise the in-coming
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 39 
 
 year of toil, while the mild Christian bells are lost 
 in the purely business din which heralds a new 
 and possibly better balance sheet. 
 
 Crestfallen, silent, and finished all our emotion, 
 we blundered down the narrow stairs again to 
 supper and more Hell Broth, and perhaps a little 
 cheap claret for the weaker heads among us. The 
 sandwiches, like rocks, dykes, and escarpments, 
 were piled on tiny plates arranged according to 
 Louy's theory of symmetry on the garish red and 
 blue Russian table-cloth. The Spode dish was 
 in full force. There were four different kinds of 
 sandwiches in all, enlivened with obstreperous 
 green stuff; Jehane began on one, and found it 
 difficult to keep in bounds. 
 
 "Too much cress, Louy ! " she murmured. 
 " Still, one soon gets the trick of keeping it in — 
 like eating macaroni. With that you have to 
 never break the connection between the plate and 
 your mouth " 
 
 Jehane was not particularly successful at " keep- 
 ing it in." Miss Bligh, who cares a good deal for 
 appearances, avoided the pitfall completely. As 
 for Desdemona, I observed her eviscerating poor 
 Louy's artless confections and slily abstracting 
 the gristle. 
 
 " You dainty puss ! " said Perry, who caught her 
 throwing the rejected pabulum behind the fireplace. 
 She was not offended ; Perry did not mean her to 
 be. Mariuscha ate nothing at all, but smoked 
 sweetly, and Casimir Livingston watched her.
 
 40 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 Then Margot Bligh upset a glass of Hell Broth 
 over her angel sleeves, and cleverly laid the 
 accident to Mr Langshire. Margot never wastes 
 anything, not even a contretemps. Perry, who was 
 the real culprit, said nothing, seeing that Margot 
 was making his crime the grounds of another 
 appeal to the millionaire to go and see her " pic." 
 Langshire agreed, but having made one con- 
 cession, he did not think it necessary to offer to 
 see her home ; this young man is evidently quietly, 
 and unostentatiously aware of his own value, and 
 never fills the measure of condescension full to 
 overflowing. He seems a good sort, but I do 
 not think Margot will get him, although he will 
 probably buy her picture out of complaisance, if 
 she manages welL 
 
 The hour had come. Hell Broth could tempt 
 us no more to folly. Jehane's eyes looked tired. 
 " Heavens, but I see myself sending up the 
 rottenest copy to-morrow ! " she whispered to me. 
 I said " Good-bye." My brother went off cheer- 
 fully with his latest, who lives with a cross old 
 uncle who has no sympathy for her literary 
 aspirations, and yet who doesn't give her enough 
 to keep herself in chiffon bows without aid from 
 her talent. All this she told me in the box 
 room. Mr Livingston hoped to be able to escort 
 Mariuscha. I sympathised with him when I saw 
 his face fall on discovering that she lived one flat 
 below. It fell still further when he incidentally 
 learned that she lived there alone. I did not
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 41 
 
 sympathise with him there. What would he 
 have ? We were all working women ! Even 
 Mariuscha, if she did not actually have to earn 
 her bread, had certainly to earn her butter and 
 cigarettes. How she did it was no concern of 
 mine, or, so far, of his either. 
 
 Having apparently a fixed idea, as nice men 
 are apt to have, that some one must share his 
 hansom and take him " out of his way " according 
 to the modest formula in use among well-behaved, 
 mealy-mouthed women, he insisted on taking 7ne 
 back to Dampier Square. It was just as I thought: 
 the more it was out of his way, the more he liked 
 it. But he had no desire to flirt with me, it was 
 just niceness. On the way we discovered a mutual 
 acquaintance in old Ralph Hardman, of Hardman 
 Hall, where Lady Violet and I generally go to 
 stay a fortnight some time in the year. Ralph 
 Hardman is Lady Violet's cousin. Every one of 
 his distant relations apparently lives in a chronic 
 state of wanting poor old Ralph's money — all, 
 excepting Lady Violet, who has plenty of her 
 own. 
 
 He has a great deal of it, and he is childless. 
 His wife died a year ago. Needy, seedy relations 
 batten on him. Casimir Livingston is no relation, 
 and one saw that naturally the old fellow would 
 enjoy the visits of this nice, clean, irresponsible, 
 well-provided-for young man without arriere pensee 
 of any kind. Of that last I am sure from his face. 
 I am seldom deceived in faces.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Herbert Langshire put Margot Bligh into the 
 hansom she could ill afford, and, with a sweet air 
 of dependence, she gave him the name of a street 
 in Bayswater to repeat to the cabman. She hoped 
 that Langshire also was making a note of it. He 
 raised his hat, she smiled a not too surburbanly 
 effusive good-bye to him, and the hansom started 
 on its way. 
 
 She leaned her elbows on the door and pondered : 
 " How far can I go for a shilling ? " 
 
 Having decided that point, somewhere about 
 Oxford Circus, she got out, telling the cabman that 
 she had discovered a shilling was all she had on 
 her, and that therefore sooner than cheat him or 
 have a row, she preferred to get out and walk. 
 The cabman sulkily concurred, for he lived at 
 Kennington — " If it had been on his way home 
 now!" 
 
 Bareheaded, her heavy dark cloak masking the 
 glories of the Botticelli dress, whose component 
 parts cost none of them more than fourpence 
 halfpenny, had the truth been known, Margot 
 walked steadily homeward. She had an umbrella 
 
 42
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 43 
 
 in her hand, which, as she suavely tiptoed down- 
 stairs in the company of young Mr Langshire, 
 she had skilfully concealed in the folds of the 
 cloak she had worn on her way there. Returning, 
 she did not think it worth while to put it on, the 
 night was so warm and her hair had served its 
 turn. As she walked, she mused over her silk 
 foundation, and wondered if she had " got it up " 
 properly ; this point was unfortunately settled 
 when she arrived at the garden gate of the little 
 house in Bayswater and prepared to trip up the 
 three or four steps that led up to the door. She 
 put her foot through the flounce of it, and rattled 
 out a sharp expletive for the benefit of the police- 
 man who stood waiting for her to produce that 
 warrant of respectability, a latch-key. With his 
 bull's-eye cocked on her, she inserted the key in 
 the keyhole and disappeared from his view. 
 
 She dropped her umbrella into the japanned 
 hatstand with a loud clatter. A figure forthwith 
 appeared on the landing, clad in the solid trailing 
 robes of night. It was the conventional maternal 
 figure, night-capped, with the dead eyes of age 
 rendering the face meaningless, and the mouth 
 fallen in where the gleaming row of teeth should 
 be. Margot made an exclamation of impatience. 
 
 " Oh, mother, you promised me that you would 
 go to bed ! " 
 
 " So I did, dearie. But I could not resist the 
 temptation of just popping out to ask if you have 
 had a good time ? "
 
 44 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " No, not particularly ; why should I ? And to 
 hear a woman of your age using slang, standing 
 there in her nightgown " 
 
 " My dear Maggie, I can only say I must have 
 got it from you. You must not let pleasure make 
 you cross, darling." 
 
 " Please don't call it pleasure, mother. Touting 
 for orders isn't pleasure, it's hard work. I am 
 dead tired, I wish you would let me go to bed." 
 
 " Of course, dear, I must not be selfish " 
 
 Margot pushed past the selfish old woman, hastily 
 imprinting a gingerly kiss on her brow and ran 
 up to her own room. This was a pretty Dresden 
 shepherdess-like apartment with curtains and bed- 
 spread and toilet-cover and everything workable 
 worked in crewels by Margot for Margot. I have 
 often seen it, but I have never been permitted to 
 envisage Mrs Bligh's room. I long to discover if 
 Margot has worked a coverlid for her mother? 
 
 Margot breakfasted in bed next day. Her 
 mother brought it up to her, and lit her fire for 
 her and left her to dress. About eleven o'clock 
 she rose and shut herself up in the studio, refusing 
 to come forth to lunch. In the afternoon she went 
 out to tea, so she did not really see her mother 
 to speak to till the evening meal. B}^ that time she 
 had sauntered into a friend's library and looked 
 out the family of Langshire in all its branches. 
 Several of them were in "Who's Who." Lang- 
 shire was in " County Families " : Herbert Walters 
 Langshire had a place in the country, a house in
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 45 
 
 Hans Place, and belonged to several good Clubs. 
 . . . Her eyes glistened. She was glad to think 
 that she had begged him to defer his call till 
 next Sunday, when some adequate preparation 
 could be made for him, and her mother drilled 
 into becomingness. She was very thoughtful as 
 she wended her way into the little dining-room, 
 holding her neck out to the servant to have her 
 blouse fastened before she sat down. 
 
 "Are you sure your hands are clean, Sarah?" 
 she asked fretfully. "What it is not to have a 
 proper maid ! " 
 
 " Couldn't I do it ? " asked her mother meekly. 
 
 " You, dear — why, you would be all day fumbling 
 at it, wouldn't you ? " 
 
 She ate her soup and nibbled her toast in silence, 
 and her mother waited patiently for such crumbs 
 of conversation as might fall from her daughter's 
 lips. They were dry crumbs, and there were very 
 few of them. 
 
 " What did you do — who did you see last night, 
 dear ? " 
 
 " Oh, Jehane's usual crowd. There's not much 
 use in my letting off a long string of names you 
 never heard of What's this, Sarah? Oh, the 
 eternal sirloin 1 Why must we have joints, 
 mother?" 
 
 " My dear, what else can we have ? You have 
 spoilt your appetite, I fear, with little cakes at 
 tea." 
 
 Margot denied the cakes, but would not have
 
 46 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 any beef, and began to eat bread and butter 
 heavily sprinkled with salt and pepper. The old 
 woman's eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " You will completely destroy the coats of your 
 stomach, dear, by that. Young ladies should never 
 touch the cruet. Will you not try a little pudding, 
 darling?" 
 
 " It seems an extraordinary looking compound ! " 
 Margot turned it over with a spoon. " Who made 
 it?" 
 
 " I did, dearie, to tempt you, out of that new 
 cookery book." 
 
 "It is the great mistake, I always think," said 
 Margot, "for incompetent people to tamper with 
 new receipts. Do let Sarah stick to the things 
 she can do, and don't you muddle in. And I 
 wanted to tell you — but all this nearly drove it 
 out of my head — there's a man coming to see 
 my 'pic' on Sunday, and I must have a decent 
 tea and a good cake, mind. Couldn't we run 
 to a Buzzard for once ? " 
 
 " Of course, dear ; I am glad you mentioned it. 
 By the bye, Dr Jenkins was in to-day." 
 
 "What has that to do with a Buzzard cake?" 
 asked Margot. "Well, what did he say? The 
 usual thing, I suppose — more fresh air and exercise, 
 and then you don't do it." 
 
 " It is dreary work tramping about these dull 
 town streets all alone " 
 
 " Now then, mother, please don't whine. You 
 mean you want us to go and live in the country
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 47 
 
 in a little earwiggy cottage in the village where 
 you were born. Think of my art ; 1 must, if 
 you don't." 
 
 " I know, dear. I always tell Jenkins that for 
 us to move is quite out of the question — but " 
 
 Margot interrupted her. " And I do believe 
 that I have got a chance of selling my ' pic' 
 after all, and then we might have a week at 
 Brighton on the strength of it." 
 
 " That's the picture you call * Crabbed Youth 
 and Age,' isn't it, dearie ? " 
 
 " Get the title right, mother ; you do make such 
 a fool of it. Well, I think I can put ' Crabbed 
 Age and Youth ' into the man who is coming 
 here on Sunday. He is frightfully well off." 
 
 " Oh, I am glad, dearie ; for if he is rich, the 
 price of the picture will be a mere flea-bite to 
 him, as you may say " 
 
 " As you may not say," muttered her daughter. 
 *' If you are going to talk like that to him, I 
 don't suppose he will ever come near us again, 
 after the first taste of you." 
 
 " I won't, dearie, I won't ! I won't open my 
 lips to him. I won't come into the room while 
 he is here at all, if you like." 
 
 " No, I don't want to seem quite unchaperoned." 
 Margot meditated aloud. " He must see I have 
 got a mother, at least ; it is more respectable, and 
 I can see that he is a very respectable young 
 man. Not at all the kind of person I should 
 have expected to meet at old Jehane's. Now,
 
 48 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 mother, if this function is concluded, I vote we 
 have Sarah in to clear." 
 
 She rose, and, going to the fireside, buried 
 herself in a book, thus avoiding a view of Sarah, 
 whose unpicturesqueness hurt her. Besides, she 
 did not like to see her mother helping the maid 
 to remove the traces of their repast, as the old 
 lady always insisted upon doing. Mrs Bligh was 
 a clergyman's daughter, but, as she said herself, 
 had always been brought up to use her hands. 
 She was fairly obedient, wore the clothes her 
 daughter designed for her, and the style of cap 
 that suited her rather severe profile ; but, as Margot 
 complained, she was always pining to get out of the 
 picture and back into her vulgar, countrified ways. 
 
 The young artist attached deep importance to 
 this visit from Herbert Langshire. Personally, 
 she was not in the least taken with him, but 
 she could not help thinking that he might possibly 
 buy her picture merely as a means of inaugurating 
 pleasant intimacy, and although she was not 
 attracted by him, there was no reason why he 
 should not be attracted by her. " The men that 
 fall in love with one are, unfortunately, never 
 the men one would have picked out," she reflected 
 sadly. " That would be too much of a good 
 thing. Thank God, I have so far kept clear of 
 artistic entanglements. I might have succumbed 
 to a master at the Slade, or so on. Artists should 
 keep themselves free — till their first success, at 
 any rate."
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 49 
 
 Early on Sunday afternoon, the studio — i.e., the 
 drawing-room, which Margot had seized upon and 
 appropriated last year, when she painted her first 
 " five-footer " — was carefully swept and garnished. 
 Chrysanthemums were cheap. Margot placed 
 them carelessly in green pots that looked as if 
 they came from France, in brass pots that looked 
 as if they came from Syria, in earth-coloured pots 
 that might have come from nowhere. The colour 
 scheme had been carefully thought out — " He may 
 have an eye for colour ; but probably has not," 
 Margot thought — " too ascetic-looking ! " 
 
 The picture was unveiled and placed in an 
 advantageous light. It represented a divinely tall 
 maiden, whose features faintly suggested Margot's 
 own, tenderly supporting an aged crone, whose 
 lineaments were those of Mrs Bligh, and no mistake. 
 Margot had " saved " a model off her mother, who 
 had posed for her in the old sofa-cover that Sarah 
 washed out last year. Near by, Polly the dummy, 
 in the very daffodil-coloured robe worn by the 
 youthful figure in the picture, glared scornfully 
 with her blunted features at the human beauty 
 she might never emulate. Sarah had disposed the 
 tea-table in a Moorish recess whose overhanging 
 draperies occasionally tickled one's chin. Margot 
 deftly moved it a little out of the way. Herbert 
 Langshire must not be annoyed by trifles. 
 
 Mrs Bligh was to officiate at the tea-table, and 
 make her entry with the kettle, and not till then. 
 She knew her part. Sarah, to be euphoniously 
 
 D
 
 50 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 spoken of as " my old nurse," although she had 
 only been in the place for a bare two years, was 
 recommended to have her hands clean, and to 
 wear the apron of artistic pattern that Miss Bligh 
 had designed " and cut out for her in the course 
 of the week. All the doors and windows were 
 left open, and the mighty draught thus created 
 swept the house clear of the poignant odour of the 
 Sunday roast. 
 
 Margot's own toilet was to be as simple and 
 neglected as was consistent with a perfect attention 
 to details. She dressed well, always, on nothing, 
 and she knew it ; but how much better would she 
 have dressed on something, a few hundreds even ! 
 She took more trouble with her mother's attire 
 than her own. Mrs Bligh was to wear her black, 
 her best, and for all ornament a tiny paste brooch 
 and some wrist buckles that Margot was prepared 
 to lend for the occasion. In the dim dawn of 
 history, they had been Mrs BHgh's own property, 
 but years ago were ruthlessly commandeered by 
 the imperious young artist. As she skilfully 
 ruffled her own flowing locks, so she smoothed 
 the wan white strands of hair which scantily 
 covered the elder's pink forehead. In the case 
 of crabbed age, the standard of dignity rather 
 than that of picturesqueness was before the 
 daughter's eyes. 
 
 After lunch, old Mrs Bligh, overcome with a 
 sense of imminence and responsibility, went to 
 sleep in a chair in the dining-room, and Margot,
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 51 
 
 after complacently admiring her own handiwork — 
 " An admirable fake of a mother, though I say it 
 as shouldn't ! " — went off to add finishing touches 
 to her own costume and to lie down for a few 
 minutes, so as to get rid of a somewhat unbecoming 
 roast-beef redness, which was not quite in the 
 picture. 
 
 A very few seconds after Margot had gone, 
 Mrs Bligh awoke with a start ! . . . 
 
 She glanced at the clock under the little round 
 mirror on the mantel-piece. She had been asleep 
 exactly an hour ! 
 
 Was it possible? She rose stiffly to ascertain, 
 only half awake as yet. Her own image arrested 
 her attention. She thought she had too much 
 colour, and it frightened her. She was suddenly 
 possessed by a desire to gain the shelter of her 
 own room ; she feared Margot would scold her 
 for having indigestion on a day like this ! 
 
 What day was it ? What was the occasion ? 
 She knew only that Margot had seemed very much 
 excited, and a great deal of fuss was being made. 
 She remembered something like it once, when 
 her eldest daughter, Margot's sister, had been 
 married. Her mind was full of this incident as 
 she slowly proceeded upstairs, and, entering her 
 own room, stood in front of the strip of looking- 
 glass nailed into the wardrobe. 
 
 " The poor child ! " she said to herself. " It is 
 a great day for her. To think I have never seen 
 the man she is going to marry ! Well, perhaps
 
 52 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 it is as well ; I might have put him off. Eh, I 
 am very black ! " 
 
 She smoothed out her dress as she stood before 
 the mirror. " Let me see, it will be ten years since 
 I have worn colours." 
 
 She began to open drawers and cupboards. In 
 the room overhead Margot was sound asleep. Mrs 
 Bligh ferreted about in a purposeless way and 
 came upon dresses that had hardly been worn, 
 that had been put away when her husband died 
 suddenly, and her daughter Margaret was sent 
 for home from her school in France. They had 
 been made in the days before the young artist had 
 had the opportunity of forming and correcting her 
 mother's taste, which had always been for the 
 florid and flamboyant. 
 
 The old lady drew her best dress of Sundays ten 
 years ago out of its linen wrapping. It was intact. 
 Its colours had hurt Margot's eyes, or she would 
 have cut it up for curtains or chair-covers years 
 ago. It was a mustard-coloured silk, with a fringe 
 of the same shade, and a quantity of turquoise 
 blue bows distributed in a fairly equal manner 
 all over its surface, though placed by preference 
 chiefly in regions where nothing could possibly be 
 tied. It was very full and very short. Mrs Bligh 
 smiled at it as if it were an old friend. 
 
 " My dear husband always thought those bows 
 very effective," she murmured ; " it is a poor 
 compliment to his taste to hide it away all these 
 years! Whatever can I have been thinking of?"
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 53 
 
 She smiled all the time she was putting it on, 
 and when the last hook was hooked, she gave a 
 deep breath of constriction and satisfaction. 
 
 " That grips one properly," she muttered. " I 
 always said that Coote was a very good dress- 
 maker, and I have never paid her bill yet, I 
 believe. I must speak to Margot about it." 
 
 She had been forced to take off her cap in 
 order to get the dress over her head, and she 
 forgot to resume it. Her hair was ruffled across 
 the front and at the back, where the hooks had 
 caught it. What she had lost in dignity she 
 had gained in espieglerie — a quality in which a 
 mother could hardly hope to shine in a daughter's 
 eyes. The paste brooch lay on the floor, a sure 
 sign for Margot, should her eye fall on it, that 
 something was wrong. But Margot still slept on 
 upstairs. 
 
 The old lady sauntered downstairs and resumed 
 her seat near the fire in the dining - room. 
 Luncheon was now cleared away, and the three 
 apples and two oranges which were the joy of 
 Margot's eyes, relegated to their places on the 
 sideboard, where they struck their accustomed 
 note in the scheme of colour. 
 
 The front door bell rang, softly. . . . 
 
 Sarah, whose instructions had been incomplete, 
 was puzzled by being asked formally if Mrs 
 BHgh was at home, as a well-brought-up man 
 like Herbert Langshire did as a matter of course, 
 and showed the visitor into the room where that
 
 54 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 lady was, fallen half asleep again. Herbert 
 Langshire had just time to take in the pictorial 
 values of an old lady in mustard colour and blue 
 trimmings, and above her head a dish of rosy- 
 cheeked apples and golden oranges, when she 
 woke with a senile jump, and transfixing the 
 maid behind him with watery and reproachful 
 eyes, thus apostrophised her : 
 
 "Oh, Sarah, you should not " Then to 
 
 the decorous young man who stood there on the 
 threshold, hat in hand : " Mr — Mr — would you 
 mind kindly passing into the studio?" 
 
 She then turned away as if to signify that the 
 interview was closed. 
 
 "Goodness mercy me! If Maggie was to catch 
 me talking to her young man by myself!" The 
 theory of her daughter's imminent wedding had 
 already gone out of her mind. 
 
 The studio into which Herbert Langshire, with 
 discreetly sightless eyes for the nonce, followed 
 the maid, adjoined the dining-room, and Sarah 
 before she pattered away to the downstairs region, 
 bewildered to the point of forgetting to inform her 
 younger mistress of his arrival, left the door open. 
 
 Herbert Langshire, with the best of wills, could 
 not help hearing subsequently the frou-frou of 
 silken skirts and the hasty rush of their wearer 
 and her exclamation, given in no measured tones : 
 " I thought I heard the front door bell " 
 
 A pause : the mustard and turquoise vision 
 had had its effect.
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 55 
 
 " You bad old woman ! Have you quite taken 
 leave of your senses ? To go and put on that 
 beastly old gown ! Go and take it off at once — 
 at once, do you hear ? It's too bad, after all my 
 trouble ! " 
 
 He heard a confused murmur of submission and 
 talk as the bad old woman managed to convey to 
 her mentor the fact that there was some one in 
 the studio. . . . Slowly, to the half-shocked, half- 
 amused young man, there sauntered in a flushed 
 Botticelli-angel-like figure, with wide blue wings 
 to its teagown, and a wrinkle in its forehead, the 
 result of the problem that this same careless angel 
 was hammering out : " Did he — or did he not — 
 hear what I said to mother?" 
 
 Mrs Bligh came in with the tea, a suppressed, 
 depressed figure in black, with paste brooches 
 stuck in anywhere, and a cap placed awry. She 
 was introduced to Herbert Langshire with a pretty 
 deference combined with a slight touch of depre- 
 cation, and the young man played up nobly, in no 
 wise indicating by his manner that he had seen 
 this decorous mother before. 
 
 Then, strangely enough, he became lively. He 
 felt himself to be in complete sympathy with the 
 old lady — they had a common secret. He thought 
 there was breeding in her quiet queerness, which 
 was absent from her daughter's up-to-date graces. 
 Mrs Bligh reminded him of an old maiden aunt 
 of his own, long since dead, whose lineage was 
 irreproachable. He was a spoilt young man, and
 
 56 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 he chose now to address his conversation entirely 
 to the mother, in order to punish the daughter, 
 who, moreover, failed to interest him. That young 
 lady was forced for the first time in her life to 
 play second fiddle to her own mother, and she did 
 not like it. They talked about old days in the 
 country, and Herbert Langshire had hardly looked 
 at " Crabbed Age and Youth." 
 
 Then it was that I came in, and, seeing poor 
 Margot's predicament, talked to the old lady by 
 way of releasing Herbert Langshire. But the 
 young man seemed in no hurry for a tete-a-tete 
 with the artist. Neither did he take the oppor- 
 tunity of flight when I came in, but drew his chair 
 closer to Mrs Bligh's, who, with one apprehensive 
 glance at her daughter, allowed him to plunge still 
 deeper into conversation with her. I tried to 
 soothe Margot, and together we strolled up to 
 the picture. 
 
 " He has hardly looked at it," she said. " Oh, 
 why did I let mother come in ? " 
 
 " Mrs Bligh has made quite a conquest, hasn't 
 she ? " said I unkindly. 
 
 " Yes, I don't mind ; but what earthly good is it ? 
 It won't make him buy my picture." 
 
 " She is having a good time, at any rate, poor 
 old dear. And perhaps she will sell your picture 
 after all." 
 
 " Nonsense ! I could weep." 
 
 " No, don't do that," I said. " Buck up, and 
 retrieve matters as far as possible. Look, he is
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 57 
 
 feeling for his hat. He is going. Smile. You 
 look pretty when you smile." 
 
 Margot then smiled — very sweetly, I must own. 
 Mr Langshire had risen and was saying to Mrs 
 Bligh : " I've enjoyed this little talk with you so 
 much. May I come again ? " 
 
 " I am going out of town for a short time," said 
 Margot, interrupting. " When I come back, I will 
 let you know." 
 
 "Thank you so much. But if I am in your 
 neighbourhood one day soon, Mrs Bligh, would 
 you refuse me a cup of tea and a chat if I called ? " 
 asked the young man with mock piteousness. 
 
 I saw he was quite a character. Then there is 
 nothing for forming the character like being rich 
 for a certain time, but not being born rich. 
 
 " Oh, please do," said Margot's mother nervously. 
 " I shall be very glad indeed to see you — but I 
 fear you would find it so dull without Maggie ! " 
 
 " Now, Mr Langshire," exclaimed Margot, laugh- 
 ing a little forcedly, "you must say that you 
 would like it better without me, and so you make 
 me jealous of my own mother. Indeed, I shall 
 think it most kind of you to look in and cheer 
 mamma up when I am away. I wouldn't think of 
 leaving her, if it wasn't for business. That is the 
 worst of a profession like mine. Poor mamma is 
 often very lonely." 
 
 " You needn't talk of that now, my dear," said 
 Mrs Bligh, with a touch of bitterness. 
 
 " Then you will come," said Margot to Herbert
 
 58 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 Langshire, giving him her pretty little manicured 
 hand, " and I shall be able to go away happy." 
 
 In her old-fashioned way, Mrs BHgh insisted on 
 seeing the visitor to the door. I remained behind 
 with Margot, who put her head on her hands and 
 cried. 
 
 " Oh, Carrie, what a mess I have made of it — 
 or, rather, what a mess mother has made of it! 
 
 I declare " 
 
 Mrs Bligh came back just then and put her 
 hand on Margot's shoulder. 
 
 "That's a nice young man, Maggie. Dearie, 
 you are crying ! What has upset you ? " 
 
 " Nothing, mother. Only he never even looked 
 at my picture." 
 
 " Don't you fret, dear ; I will show it to him 
 myself, when you are away. My darling child, I 
 have got a little bit of a confession to make to you." 
 "Shall I go?" I asked. 
 
 " No, Carrie, don't go. You know us so well. 
 What is it, mother?" 
 
 "I took off the blue dress, dearie, you see, as 
 you told me, but not before he had seen it." 
 " Mercy, mother, what can you mean ? " 
 " That silly Sarah showed him into the dining- 
 room first, and he saw Me ! I am distressed about 
 it, for I can't help thinking that's the reason he 
 didn't value your picture, seeing you had taken 
 such a bad eye for colour from your poor old 
 mother. I am truly sorry, dearie. Won't you 
 forgive me, and we'll try to set it right."
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 59 
 
 " I don't suppose it's that at all, mother," said 
 Margot abjectly. "Don't bother. I suppose he 
 heard what I said to you about your get-up when 
 I came down. I have been suspecting it all the 
 afternoon, and his behaviour convinces me. I 
 wish to goodness you hadn't given me a chance 
 of scolding you before people like that. I am 
 not really a bad-tempered woman, as anybody 
 who knows me knows — don't they, Carrie? — but 
 he will go away thinking so, I shall call my 
 picture, 'Crabbed Youth and Age,' after all," she 
 added, rather cleverly, as I thought, " and we shall 
 see if mother will be able to sell it to him under 
 that title?"
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Who will have it all? 
 
 This question, mean but inevitable, rose to my 
 mind as the train lazily bore Lady Violet and 
 myself one golden week-end afternoon through 
 the pleasant county of Sussex on our way to 
 Hardman Hall. Hardman Hall would be a 
 show place if it could be shown. The grounds 
 are magnificent, and the Early English flower- 
 garden is the finest in Sussex ; the furniture the 
 most correct and mediaeval that can be got at 
 Christie's, whose sales Mr Ralph Hardman has 
 attended regularly for years. He thinks nothing 
 of spending a hundred guineas or so on a chair. 
 Every article of use and luxury is the best that 
 taste can select or money buy. The pictures, the 
 china, the manuscripts, the books, are such as to 
 make collectors' mouths water, and tyros blink 
 with incompetent envy. 
 
 Ralph Hardman, though a weird, shy, ugly, old 
 
 gentleman of sixty-seven, is by no means averse 
 
 from the sight of his fellow-creatures, and likes 
 
 his museum-like rooms furnished with live articles 
 
 of vertu as well as inanimate ones. Pleasant 
 
 60
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 6i 
 
 people are asked to dine at his trestle table and 
 sit on his uncomfortable chairs that cost so much 
 and " look nothing," as Lady Violet says. From 
 the periodical assemblages of guests that he is 
 in the habit of collecting, he is popularly supposed 
 to be inclined to choose an heir, with which 
 commodity he is as yet said to be unprovided. 
 He has no absurd bias in favour of charitable 
 institutions, but wants to found a family, to which 
 end it is decreed that the happy mortal selected 
 must adopt his name. 
 
 My mistress, who often plays hostess for him in 
 an informal way, is well enough off to take the 
 problem of succession to the goods of her opulent 
 relation in the light of amusement. 
 
 "It is great fun," she said to me in the train, 
 after we had passed Horsham, "to see how dear 
 old Ralph contrives to jockey them all, and utilise 
 their shameless cupidity to give him an interest 
 in life. I wonder what he has got down there now 
 in the way of pretendants ? I must have Mason 
 up this evening and pump her." 
 
 I always consider this proceeding rather a 
 caddish one. Mason is the housekeeper, not at 
 all the stout black satin lady with yards of gold 
 watch-chain one is used to in novels, but a spare, 
 hectic female with a pointed nose and a narrow 
 chest, like a Sunday School teacher, or the mistress 
 of a stationer's shop in a country town. There is 
 no bonhomie about her, but she has some eye for 
 character, and Lady Violet's title is a key that
 
 62 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 unlocks all her confidence. She, too, is aware 
 that she is " well left," and that the ultimate 
 disposition of the bulk of the Hardman property 
 concerns her no more than it does Lady Violet. 
 I hate her. 
 
 As we drove up, I caught sight of my artist 
 friend, Margot Bligh, established in the shrubberies, 
 evidently painting the house. I hoped it was a 
 commission. Of course it was. Cunning little 
 Margot ! How had she managed to get hold of 
 Ralph Hardman? Who had recommended her? 
 I nodded as effusively as a companion "dared, and 
 promised myself a good gossip later on. 
 
 Lady Violet made an unfortunate entry. She 
 knocked her bonnet off, passing under the old 
 carved doorway, and flounced round and scolded 
 me, to the intense interest of the gaping servants. 
 
 " I have only a few hairs," she said, " and you 
 have taken care to pin my bonnet to three of them. 
 I am now suffering intense agony. How are ^tdu, 
 Ralph ? What a filthy smell ! " 
 
 " Sulphuric acid," said Mr Hardman calmly. 
 " Mr Livingston " — he indicated the very pretty 
 young man I had met at Jehane's party — " is 
 helping me to decipher an old lease." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr Livingston ingeniously, " and 
 the effect of the acid so soon wears off " 
 
 " You mean you want me to go. Pray don't 
 mind me. Old women were made to be neglected. 
 Where's tea ? " 
 
 " Fors pres les forspres. . . . What the deuce
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 63 
 
 does that mean ? " murmured old Ralph. " What 
 did you say, Violet ? " 
 
 " I asked for tea," said Lady Violet, " and you 
 don't suppose I intend to sit down and drink it in 
 this stink ? Come, Caroline, get hold of Mason. 
 Poor Ralph grows more featherbeddy every day. 
 He won't cheat the grave long. That's the new onel" 
 
 This impressive whisper could not have been 
 lost on one of the two men we left behind us 
 poring over the Tudor lease. We made our way 
 into an inner room, where Margot Bligh was 
 hovering over the teapot, which utensil she was 
 evidently shy of handling in the presence of Lady 
 Violet, a near relation, and a lady of known 
 acerbity and cantankerousness. 
 
 " Yes, you can make tea," Lady Violet remarked, 
 without any further acknowledgment of her 
 presence. Margot, one could see, yearned to tell 
 her that she wasn't a servant, but a visitor like 
 herself. I could not, of course, speak to my' friend 
 about what interested us both till Lady Violet had 
 had her two full cups. Lady Violet accepted them 
 at poor Margot's hands, simply looking through 
 her, thus insulting art in the person of the tea- 
 maker, as Margot said, when at last the old lady 
 elected to take herself off to her own room. On 
 pretence of collecting the wraps and seeing to the 
 dog, I stayed behind a moment and questioned 
 Margot, in the plain, unvarnished fashion with 
 which we working girls are wont to address each 
 other.
 
 64 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " How did you get in here ? " 
 
 " Mariuscha," replied Margot ; " she knew that 
 old Mr Hardman was good for a portrait of his 
 place — it will be the twenty-seventh he has had 
 done, but the last shall be first, and she secured 
 the job for a * pal.' I packed up my traps and 
 came down here, without knowing my host from 
 Adam. No matter. I daresay I shall manage to 
 put * Crabbed Age ' into him before I have done. 
 Truly, Carrie, if I don't get that 'pic' off soon, 
 I shall go into a decline or get jaundice, or 
 something like that. I hate doing landscape, but 
 anything to get ' Crabbed Age ' off> so strict atten- 
 tion to business ! The worst of it is, there is 
 such a good-looking man here — he distracts me 
 frightfully." 
 
 " Another needy adventurer, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Possibly, I wouldn't trust him ; but, Carrie, after 
 all, it is perfectly legitimate, when an old place 
 like this is practically going for the asking. This 
 man has eyes that nobody could refuse anything 
 to. Such magnificent drawing about the sockets, 
 don't you know ? A firm sweep of chin — here he 
 is, back from the links. He went up with the 
 Barlings — by the way, they are really relations 
 of old Ralph's, but they have not a ghost of a 
 chance — no more than I have. Old Ralph hates 
 them, they are so apologetic and deprecating, with 
 bad tempers held well in leash for the sake of 
 gain, don't you know ? The girl is as ugly as he 
 is, and he likes them pretty, does the good man !
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 65 
 
 Look out of this window, now here, quick ! — don't 
 you admire him ? " 
 
 " Rather barber's blocky," I said. I don't know 
 why, but I did not choose to admit the man's 
 obvious good looks to her. Just as he came under 
 the porch Lady Violet crept downstairs again in 
 search of me, piping out : " Caroline, Caroline ! 
 You've had time to find six cloaks in the time 
 you've been gossiping away down there. I don't 
 pay you to " 
 
 She was interrupted in her recapitulation of the 
 terms of my engagement by Ralph Hardman, who 
 came out of the library, and joining the handsome 
 man, introduced him to Lady Violet as Colonel 
 Lisbon. 
 
 He was, of course, not introduced to me. Why 
 should he be? Yet I felt my position, as the 
 saying is. I was hauled away peremptorily by 
 my mistress. 
 
 " Now, Caroline, come along and bring Fidgie. 
 Don't nip her stomach like that. Go and tell 
 Mason that I shall be glad to see her in my rooms, 
 if she can spare a moment." 
 
 I gave the message. Mason was glad to spare 
 many moments. She came to Lady Violet's room 
 and stood in the doorway, coyly waiting to be 
 asked to sit down. I chose to remain standing. 
 
 " Well, Mason, how is it all going on ? Has 
 he been altering His Will in anybody's favour 
 lately ? " 
 
 Mason seemed to have nothing to say, a sure 
 
 £
 
 66 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 sign that there was a good deal waiting to be 
 elicited. 
 
 " 1 can't say I think much of the present lot of 
 aspirants," continued Lady Violet ; " weedy — raw 
 — too much high collar and golf-stocking." 
 
 " Neither of those have a ghost of a chance, Lady 
 Violet," replied Mason, primming her lips. 
 
 " I suppose, Mason, you think that that clerical 
 couple, who seem too frightened to speak, have a 
 better claim ? Well, they are relations, at least. 
 Old Barling crooks his little finger over his teacup 
 just as Ralph does, and the girl has the family 
 umbrella nose, and spread figure. Upon my word, 
 a woman's a fool to let her figure go, and not even 
 look healthy at that." 
 
 " It would make no difference, Lady Violet, if 
 Miss Barling laced herself till she burst. Mr 
 Hardman's as likely to make Miss Courtenay here " 
 — I jumped at the magnitude of the implication — 
 " his heir as any of them that's in the house at this 
 moment. Just playing with them, that's what he 
 is. It amuses him " 
 
 " And hurts them," suggested Lady Violet. 
 " Now, my good Mason, be more explicit. You 
 know something." 
 
 " You do not flatter me. Lady Violet," said Mason, 
 meaning that she was replete with the information 
 attributed to her. 
 
 " Out with it then, Mason. You and I are old 
 friends, you know." 
 
 " Oh, Lady Violet ! Well, then, Lady Violet and
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 67 
 
 Miss Courtenay, you can take it from me, the 
 person who will get it all is just a girl — a type- 
 writer girl — like Miss Courtenay here might be, 
 don't you know " 
 
 " Yes, I know the sort of thing — a mere nobody 
 — a dependent." 
 
 " She came here with her ugly machine thing, 
 and copied some of his manuscripts out for him, 
 and just typed herself into hearth and home, as 
 you might say." 
 
 " That must have been three summers ago, when 
 I was away in Heligoland. But who is she ? You 
 don't mean there's a chance of his marrying her ? " 
 
 " Yes, if she were to want him to. But she 
 don't want, not she ; he isn't either smart enough, 
 or young enough. She didn't really like the 
 master, not personally, just flirted with him what 
 was necessary to get herself well left. Didn't 
 stick at a kiss or two, neither, for I caught her 
 myself in the study one day. In I went and gave 
 up my situation on the spot." 
 
 "Well, Mason, you have a spirit! But you 
 knew, of course, that your resignation would not 
 be accepted ? " 
 
 " I counted on that. Lady Violet. I said : 
 ' Either this lady ' — yes, I gave her lady — * goes, 
 or I do, sir. I beg to leave you to choose.' " 
 
 " And he packed her out of the house instanter, 
 eh?" 
 
 " M — yes, she left. She didn't mind. I believe 
 it was what she was waiting for, myself, something
 
 68 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 of the kind. He gave her a champagne dinner 
 for a good send-off. The BarHngs were in the 
 house at the time, but they are so poor-spirited 
 that they dursn't interfere. But — Lady Violet — 
 to spite Me, he altered his Will, and left the house 
 and every penny to her. 'Tis the solemn truth, 
 and I am in the position to know it." 
 
 Lady Violet grinned. She knew well the kneel- 
 ing position frequently assumed by Mason. 
 
 " It was exactly what the girl was working for. 
 We are all aware that there's something wrong 
 with his heart, and that he may have a cerebus 
 that will carry him off any minute. She just 
 packed her box and went quietly off to London, 
 and took a nice quiet flat in Hardicanute Mansions, 
 Bloomsbury, and lives there comfortable. She can 
 well afford to, for she gets a tidy little sum from 
 Mr Hardman, enough to pay the rent of her flat, 
 and a good deal over. She would not let him 
 give her more. Hypocrite ! I heard her arguing 
 it out " 
 
 " Tiring work, stooping, eh. Mason ? " 
 
 Mason disregarded the rude innuendo which 
 Lady Violet for the life of her could not help 
 making, and went on : 
 
 " Nor she won't see him, neither, A nice escape 
 for her ; she don't want to see his ugly face now 
 that she has got what she wants. So has he — and 
 that's to spite me — he don't care to see her either. 
 He never really cared for ladies' society ; and she 
 won't have to wait long, either, before she comes
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 69 
 
 into her unjust gains ; he is breaking up fast. We 
 all think so, Lady Violet. Mr Martin, too. He 
 took him up his breakfast in bed the other 
 day." 
 
 "There's many a slip 'twixt the bed and the 
 grave. Mason," remarked my mistress — one of her 
 nasty speeches. " Well, you have given me a nice 
 shock." 
 
 I ventured to put a question here. " Mrs Mason, 
 what is Miss Lancaster like ? " 
 
 " Oh, did I mention her name ? I didn't mean 
 to. Not a bad - looking girl — showy, a bit of a 
 Jewess and a gipsy mixed. Her father was a free- 
 thinker, and lectured on atheism. She believes in 
 nothing." 
 
 " No more do I," interjected Lady Violet, trying 
 to shock Mason, but in vain, her title held good. 
 
 "Well, my lady, of course you are of that 
 station, you know best. Miss Mary Lancaster 
 wears no fringe, but just her hair brushed back 
 from her forehead, like those French improprieties 
 on the picture postcards. She isn't very young — 
 quite eight-and-twenty. She told Mr Hardman 
 she could talk like the Russian gipsies — Maggy's, 
 or something like that. He liked that. She went 
 to Girton, I believe, before her father lost all 
 his money. She's got a mother and sister that 
 won't have her to live with them at any price. 
 I know her address. Master constantly sends 
 letters to the post for her. She looks up things 
 in the British Museum for him. I see long
 
 70 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 envelopes full of her handwriting — not love-letters, 
 as I understand love-letters." 
 
 " Does she know, do you think, what he has 
 done for her?" asked Lady Violet, who was 
 thoroughly enjoying herself. 
 
 " Oh, I expect she knows that," said Mason. 
 " Trust her minxishness to know. Oh — and, Lady 
 Violet, I am almost ashamed to tell you — after she 
 was gone I missed the best necklace — the emerald 
 one." 
 
 " Do you mean she stole it ? " 
 
 " She could not steal it : I had charge of it. He 
 gave it to her all right. She would accept nothing 
 else, though he was always wanting to give her 
 things. The best of everything for her. Mr 
 Hardman once had the necklace valued, and 
 
 they said it was worth Lady Violet, if you 
 
 will excuse me, there's my master's bell." 
 
 "You are terribly entertaining. Mason, but I 
 suppose you must go. I know the price of that 
 necklace. Now, you see, Caroline, what a designing 
 class you are." 
 
 I pocketed that little amenity, and left Lady 
 Violet to the severer duties of her toilet. I had 
 five minutes to spare, and I sought Margot's room. 
 She was sure to have a blouse to fasten, and I 
 shouldered mine, intending to beg her to return 
 my slight service in kind. 
 
 I saw it all now. It was, of course, Mary 
 Lancaster who had recommended Margot to her 
 munificent patron. That was nice of her, at least.
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 71 
 
 Women ought to help each other to such good 
 things as are going, but did she know that Mr 
 Hardman had left his money to her, if it was true 
 that he had done so ? Mason might be mis- 
 informed ; eavesdropping is not the surest or the 
 most convenient way of gleaning information. I 
 remembered Miss Lancaster's enigmatic exclama- 
 tion on New Year's Eve — her strange prayer, " I 
 believe I wish some one to die." Was she really 
 brutal enough to be thinking in such terms of the 
 poor old man who had been kind to her, and whose 
 desired death would make her a rich woman. I 
 knocked at the door of Margot. She had got one 
 of the best rooms — in honour of art, I suppose? 
 
 " Oh, come in ! Are you a maid ? Why, it's 
 Carrie ! I was hoping your knock meant some- 
 body come to offer to fasten me." 
 
 " Well, I will. Turn round to the light." 
 
 I put a pin in here, and a brooch there, pulled 
 her gathers into the middle, and tied the ribbons 
 in her sleeves, then, and not till then, I presented 
 my own back, and begged her to " hook " me. 
 
 " What short arms you must have ! " she said 
 impatiently. " I wonder you don't have your 
 blouses made to fasten in front ; it would save so 
 much trouble. Oh, I do wonder who they will 
 give me to ! " 
 
 " Probably me," said I. " We shall walk timidly 
 in together. The numbers seem unequal, and, if 
 they are, the companions and artists are bound 
 to go to the wall."
 
 72 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " That's all very well for you, Carrie, but I am a 
 representative of the noblest art in the world. I 
 cannot allow it to be snubbed in my person." 
 
 " Let us hope you will get the parson, then." 
 
 " I know who I should like," said Margot 
 pensively. " That man — Colonel Lisbon. I could 
 throw over art and everything else for him. 
 Wouldn't you, Carrie?" 
 
 " No. Too self-conscious, too froggy." 
 
 "Like to like," said Margot. "You are the 
 coldest woman I know, Carrie ; you have no 
 temperament." 
 
 "Don't J>/ease use that odious word about me." 
 
 " I am not using it about you, that is just it. 
 Now your brother Perry " 
 
 "What has poor Perry been doing now?" 
 
 "Jilting Desdemona Cresswell." 
 
 " Well, I have no pity for the Desdemona 
 Cresswells of life ! They ride for a sentimental 
 fall. They fix their affections too easily. Why, 
 she's only known Perry a month ! " 
 
 " How long would it take you to fix yours, 
 Carrie?" 
 
 "At least three months," said I, humbugging 
 her. " I don't believe in sudden conversions." 
 
 "Iceberg! Blanc-mange! Cold shape!" cried 
 Margot, as I left her and went back to Lady Violet. 
 
 I found the lady's door locked against me, and 
 could get no answer to my knocking. She is taken 
 that way sometimes. I turned away, to dawdle 
 about, and return at a more propitious moment,
 
 A WORKADAy woman 73 
 
 and encountered Colonel Lisbon in the corridor. 
 He fled, but not before the door of Lady Violet's 
 room had opened and my mistress herself issued 
 forth waving a soiled handkerchief, and exclaiming : 
 " Where on earth have I put my spectacles ? " He 
 was by no means out of earshot. 
 
 Of course I knew what had happened. She had 
 thrown that useful piece of mechanism, instead of 
 the handkerchief, into the clothes-basket. I mildly 
 suggested this to her. 
 
 " I suppose my mind is going now ! " she mumbled, 
 piqued by her own mental lapse, for which she 
 chose to consider me responsible. Loudly she 
 remarked : " I'm sure I don't know why I keep a 
 paid memory, if I am allowed to do things like 
 that." 
 
 It was not in flesh and blood to refrain from the 
 obvious rejoinder. " You had carefully locked your 
 memory out of the room, you see. The gong has 
 sounded. Shall we go down ? " 
 
 " As soon as you will kindly allow me to pass 
 out of my room," Lady Violet rejoined, with the 
 acerbity I fully deserved, but had had my money's 
 worth for. "If you choose to stand there blocking 
 up the whole passage " 
 
 We progressed downstairs. I avoided Lady 
 Violet's train by a hundred miles. She was as 
 nervous about it as a cat if you threaten to touch 
 its whiskers. The carpet was rucked up in some 
 unforeseen way at the bottom of the staircase, 
 and Lady Violet stopped and stared at it as if it
 
 74 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 constituted an impassable barrier. Colonel Lisbon, 
 standing in the hall below, with his eyes in the air, 
 looking at nothing in particular, dropped them, 
 saw the difficulty and sprang adroitly forward. 
 
 " Allow me ! " 
 
 His tone slightly suggested the shop-walker, but 
 he was efficient. The obstacle was removed, and 
 Lady Violet passed on a la Queen Elizabeth, 
 smiling on her new Raleigh. 
 
 " He is ' on the make,' too," said I to myself 
 bitterly. " A pity, for it is really quite good- 
 looking."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 We all shook down as ill as usual in this extremely 
 composite household. All these persons, divided 
 by a common interest, hated and gave each other 
 the widest of berths. Old Ralph treated them all 
 in the same way ; that is to say, he got what amuse- 
 ment he possibly could out of them, despised them 
 heartily, fed them well, and laughed at them. 
 
 I except young Mr Livingston, whom I felt, 
 rather than knew, to have no ulterior object in 
 making himself agreeable to his host. It was his 
 first visit, and probably would be his last. He was 
 one of those sweet, sunshiny young men who have 
 no living to earn, or axes to grind, who have a 
 good digestion and a good tailor, who go where 
 they are asked, unless there is a good reason to 
 the contrary, and when once they are in a man's 
 house throw themselves eagerly into whatever may 
 be going forward. The morning after our arrival 
 he was deeply engaged in capturing gold-fish with 
 the aid of a shrimping-net out of the fountain in 
 the middle of the lawn, which had become so choked 
 up with tadpoles that it had to be temporarily 
 emptied. He worked con amove, though he was 
 
 75
 
 76 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 but seldom rewarded by any glint of gold in the 
 clots of mud which filled the net at every haul, and 
 it was a very hot day. He was as happy as a 
 child over a new game ; he is the stuff of which good 
 pioneers and Colonists are made. 
 
 The dull Barlings and Colonel Lisbon were 
 helping him by looking on. Margot Bligh had 
 abandoned her canvas, and in a washed-out pink 
 muslin, was drivelling about " the poor, dear little 
 tadpoles," and stopping her nostrils alternately. 
 Mr Hardman was quietly happy. Only I was 
 cross. I could not help it. Lady Violet, consider- 
 ing the reek of the freshly-disturbed mud as only 
 inferior to that of the sulphuric acid the day before, 
 complained loudly of Ralph's " dirty ploys," and 
 made me establish her chair, her footstool, and 
 her novel as far away as possible from the smell, 
 though not too far to prevent her from keeping an eye 
 on the proceedings. Thus, with sniffs and adverse 
 comments, she thought to while the morning away. 
 
 Presently the sun went behind a cloud, and she 
 pretended to feel chilly, and sent me in to fetch 
 a shawl. I don't think I stopped more than ten 
 seconds beside the scene of operations on my 
 return, but she resented it, and sulkily opposed her 
 shoulder to the shawl I put round her, remarking 
 without apparent irony : " Come along, come along ; 
 you seem to think that you are here to enjoy 
 yourself" 
 
 " No, I don't think that at all," I replied, gently 
 but obviously. It vexed her, of course.
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 77 
 
 She continued : " One would think the house was 
 half a mile away instead of a few yards. I know 
 exactly what you did — you went up to the room 
 my friends gave you to affix that killing bow " 
 (Lady Violet thought this phrase literary). " You 
 wanted to impress one of those loafing cadgers 
 over there, playing the fool with a shrimping-net 
 and a few poor fish that they are hunting and 
 harrying out of existence ! Now, didn't you ? You 
 are more of a baby than you look, Caroline." 
 
 " Perhaps you didn't notice, but I was wearing 
 this particular cravat at breakfast," I answered. 
 It was never worth while to be nasty to Lady 
 Violet, she returned all gibes with interest, and I 
 was a little sorry for her. The sun had come out 
 again, and was finding out the weak places in her 
 sheltering tree ; she was liverish to-day, and she 
 had had some bad news at breakfast. 
 
 The nonagenarian countess of the Memoirs was 
 dead. She began on her favourite topic, and it 
 is one on which, by constant brooding, she has 
 arrived at some degree of clairvoyance. She 
 sometimes achieves pathos, and impresses me in 
 spite of myself. 
 
 " But, I suppose, old women are made to be 
 neglected ? It is a law of nature. Our work is 
 done" (I didn't see how she could say that since 
 she had never borne a child). " There are no fashions 
 designed for us, no bonnets made to suit us, no 
 bread baked without a crust, no specialising for our 
 cases, no comfort anywhere. I am getting not to
 
 78 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 be able to walk without a stick, or see without 
 glasses, or eat without false teeth. When it comes 
 to that, that one's body ceases to be self-supporting 
 but has to be eked out all along from extraneous 
 sources, when one has to borrow all one's five 
 senses, so to speak, then the end may come when 
 it likes! I shan't be sorry. If I hadn't a little 
 money, I suppose I shouldn't even have you, or 
 such as you, Caroline, to look after me, and you 
 are by way of being a relation, and ought to do 
 it for love." 
 
 " I am sure I would if I could." 
 
 I meant that I could not afford to do so, but 
 no doubt she took it the other way. Yet the 
 equivoque was surely pardonable? It was un- 
 conscious, and I do so hate being called Caroline ! 
 The sun was very strong ; Lady Violet told me 
 sharply to hold her umbrella "more over" her — 
 it was an umbrella, and not a silly, flimsy parasol. 
 My own undefended cheek tingled, and the hand 
 that held the heavy ornamented stick of the 
 umbrella shook, but my task-mistress was too much 
 depressed to notice. We were some distance from 
 the reek of the fountain, but I smelt it. A deadly 
 sense of faintness stole over me. I was feebly 
 considering what I should do — I hesitated — I was 
 on the point of falling — when Colonel Lisbon came 
 up to where we were established under the catalpa 
 tree, and for the second time I heard the classic 
 phrase, " Allow me ! " 
 
 Then I did faint. Oh, the disgrace of it all !
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 79 
 
 Of course I don't know what happened after 
 that, but even in my swoon I seemed to be con- 
 scious of Lady Violet's displeasure. The last word 
 I heard her say as I went off, " So unnecessary," 
 convinced me that she would at once proceed to 
 remove all possible glamour from the situation in 
 the bystander's eyes, by particularising various 
 items of diet that might have " disagreed " with me. 
 
 I came to myself in the big hall, where I suppose 
 I had been hustled, in the purposely wooden arms 
 of Mrs Mason, who made short and unsympathetic 
 work of me, and edged me off upstairs as soon as I 
 could walk with the help of the banisters. I spent 
 the remainder of the day in my room. A fainting 
 fit is really not worth while for a companion, 
 stripped of its sensation, divested of all sentimental 
 interest, and with a bad headache for sole residue. 
 
 When evening fell I fancied the air might do my 
 head good, so while they were having dinner, I 
 caught up a wrap and went down to the garden. 
 
 I don't like spring. I don't admire its season- 
 able manifestations that people go so wild over. 
 I don't admire crude glints of Rickett's Blue sky 
 seen through scudding rain-drifts, or awkward 
 contrasts of tender pink buds growing straight 
 out of a black bough, or the sharp corners of the 
 celandine's white petals resting on the dark earth. 
 The spring sun seems always to shine on the 
 wrong side of things that the spring wind 
 obligingly turns over for it. The steel-grey flash 
 of the swallows in March sets my teeth on edge,
 
 8o A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 like the squeak of a slate-pencil, and I can't help 
 sniffing the sour smell of the upturned sods as 
 if they reminded me of the airs of a hospital 
 ward. 
 
 And not for nothing, either! All the tiresome 
 latent illnesses have a way of raising their heads 
 in this season. Lady Violet has toothache — back- 
 ache—or what not— "Oh, it's just the spring!" 
 I tell her cheerily, and she flies at once to sulphur 
 tabloids. Why should the poets' spring test the 
 purity of our blood so severely and represent 
 such a strain on the nerves? 
 
 I am convinced that no creature who possesses 
 more than an elementary memory can enjoy the 
 spring. Lady Violet pretends to. Perry really 
 does, but I can't stand the waves of recollection 
 that are carried with the smell of the wild currant 
 bushes, or endure the poignant associations of 
 scented night-flowering stocks. To the old stagers 
 of life, the year seems to progress after the 
 fashion of a motor, by a succession of shocks. 
 I have suffered more than twenty springs manque, 
 remember. 
 
 The garden was deserted. They were all play- 
 ing bridge in the lighted drawing-room. I ought 
 to have gone in, for my headache was lessening, 
 but I could not oblige myself to do so. I was 
 enjoying myself sadly. I had only a dressing- 
 gown on and a little shawl over my head, Scotch 
 fashion. But there was nobody there. 
 
 Yes, there was ! A red spot that must be the
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 8i 
 
 light of some one's cigar came in my direction. 
 I had embarked on an alley which had no side 
 issue, and my slow paces must inevitably bring 
 me face to face with the man who was smoking — 
 Colonel Lisbon — who came up to me, with the 
 hand that held the cigarette gracefully extended 
 behind him. 
 
 "How are you, Miss Courtenay? I was most 
 anxious to hear, and no one could tell me. It 
 was I who carried you in, you know." 
 
 " No, I did not know," I replied. " Thank you 
 very much." My pink dressing-gown troubled me. 
 
 " But, tell me, are you better ? " 
 
 " Yes, much." 
 
 "That's a dreadful old woman, that Lady 
 Violet ! " 
 
 " Oh, hush ! " I said, though I can't see that I 
 owe Lady Violet any loyalty ; " and — I think I 
 must go in now." Would he know it was a 
 dressing-gown ? 
 
 " I say, don't let me drive you out of the 
 garden ! " he said quickly. " I ought to be in at 
 bridge, but the fact is I am fairly cleaned out." 
 He knocked the ashes off his cigar against the 
 balustrade of the terrace, and looked rather sad 
 and grim. " I suppose," he continued, " that you 
 are more or less in the same boat, or you wouldn't 
 do what you do. She's a bit of a bully " 
 
 " My — Lady Violet is no worse than any one 
 else would be, except she is a woman. Women 
 always bully the creature they pay." 
 
 F
 
 82 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " Poor child, how bitterly you speak ! " he 
 murmured, and the common phrase of male 
 patronage was pleasant to me from his lips, though, 
 of course, he had no right to use it on such a 
 very slight acquaintance. I don't suppose he 
 would have done so to any one but a girl in my 
 position ; no, he wouldn't have dared to speak so 
 casually to a woman who was staying in the 
 house " on her own " ! Companions cannot be 
 choosers of phrases. Personally, I am afraid I 
 should not have stood it from any one else — any 
 one who was less good-looking, though I don't 
 know that that is any reason. 
 
 " What did you have for dinner ? " he asked 
 me suddenly. " Up in your own room, I suppose." 
 
 " Nothing. I didn't have it anywhere." 
 
 "Oh, that was bad," he said, like any old 
 grandmother. " Can you point me out the larder 
 window? " 
 
 " I could not eat anything — not now — not even 
 if you stole it for me." 
 
 " A bit upset still, eh ? Take my arm and 
 walk round with me a little. Let us go and see 
 the fountain that made all the mischief. It looks 
 like what Sodom and Gomorrah must have looked 
 like, I should think." 
 
 " I've only got a " 
 
 " — Intimate garment of sorts on. That does 
 not matter, I won't look at you. You look rather 
 like the women in the place I have come from." 
 
 " Where's that ? "
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 83 
 
 " Chili. Been a whole year there, digging in 
 the nitrate fields." 
 
 " Then you were really working," said I. 
 
 " Why, yes, of course. Does that surprise you ? " 
 
 He was not a mere fortune-hunter, then ! I said 
 aloud : " No, but it seems to me that in this world 
 it is the women who do all the work. Men just 
 stand about and look for it." 
 
 " That is the hardest job of the two," he rejoined. 
 " Vou get it without looking for it. But, as a 
 matter of fact, you women stand in your own 
 light. You bag all the work, and then wonder 
 why we are too poor to marry you. My life is 
 spent in looking for something to do. I am that 
 deplorable being, a younger son. I tried being 
 agent once for my cousin, Lord Lyminge — I had 
 a taste of your sort of life in those days, and I 
 simply couldn't stand it. Old Frank took it out 
 of me. I declined to do a dog's work on a dog's 
 wages. Women are more pliable — adaptable — 
 what ? Lady Violet is a sort of relation of yours, 
 isn't she? I say — you're not getting cold, are 
 you ? — can you tell me what that young fellow 
 Livingston does for a living ? " 
 
 " I believe he's got a living ready made." 
 
 " Good Lord ! And he looks a luxurious, 
 effeminate sort of chap. Do you think he has 
 any chance?" 
 
 "Chance? Of what?" I asked, though indeed 
 I knew. The very air of Hardman Hall is 
 infectious.
 
 84 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " Of being in a position to invite us all down 
 here to stay with him some day. He is obviously 
 making the running all he knows with old Hard- 
 man." 
 
 " I don't agree with you. Of all the people 
 here, he seems to me the least of a toady." 
 
 " You might have excepted your humble servant," 
 said my new friend ; " but then you happen to know 
 I am quite out of it. Lyminge brought me over 
 here from Honsham Court to see the old boy, 
 and we got playing billiards, and he liked my 
 game and asked me down here on my own 
 account. I fancy the life here, it is so free and 
 easy ; one can do exactly as one likes." 
 
 " Yes," I rejoined bitterly. My head began to 
 ache again just then. " It is nice to be inde- 
 pendent — to be asked for one's own sake, and 
 not as a mere appendage." 
 
 " You must not kick against the pricks, my 
 little friend — if I may call you so? You must 
 forgive me, if I am cheeky. I have lived for years 
 in out-of-the-way places, and not met a respectable 
 woman from one year's end to the other. Did 
 you ever hear of Kloochmen ? Women ? Did you 
 guess? Rolling stones never have time to acquire 
 manners, you see, for as soon as they get hold of 
 the conventions of one place, they move on to 
 somewhere where they are entirely different. I 
 always speak as I feel." 
 
 " That is probably why Mr tiardman likes you 
 so much," said I. " He loves frankness."
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 85 
 
 " Did he say so ? " asked my new friend hastily, 
 adding softly : " And do you ? " 
 
 " Yes, if it is natural." 
 
 "You must be a Scotchwoman. Only Scotch- 
 women have that curious grudging charm. . . . 
 You refuse to quite open your mouth when you 
 smile, you make a futile attempt to close it in 
 the middle which is most fascinating. You speak 
 with your face a little piquantly turned away " 
 
 " I really must go in now." 
 
 " But promise me that you will eat something." 
 
 " Yes, I will eat the plateful of cold pudding 
 that Mrs Mason brought up to my room an hour 
 or so ago." 
 
 " Sweets to the sweet," said he, laughing. " A 
 cold sweet, too — and that is exactly what you 
 are " 
 
 I don't think I was meant to hear that last 
 sentence. Luckily, I had already turned away. 
 As I munched the cold pudding and slowly and 
 wearily put myself to bed — that little wretch 
 Margot never came near me — I wondered if the 
 way Colonel Lisbon had talked to me represented 
 his manner to other women — women in a better 
 position than mine ? I don't believe any girl, bred 
 and brought up under the kindly influences of an 
 assured social status, can understand the bitterness 
 of the problem presented to poor Carrie Courtenay, 
 as she lay and turned and tossed, and failed to 
 find sleep.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 I RESUMED my duties next day. I assisted Lady 
 Violet to dress — an agonising, contradictious three- 
 quarters of an hour — and meekly followed her down 
 the carven staircase to breakfast. Colonel Lisbon 
 met us coming up. Knowing that a question as 
 to my health was on his tongue, I willed him 
 not to ask it — successfully. It would only have 
 irritated Lady Violet. She was in a good temper 
 that morning. She said, as she watched his 
 diamonded stockings round the corner : 
 
 " That man with the good calves has beautiful 
 eyes, too." 
 
 This was in the morning-room after breakfast. 
 He had, I confess, looked at me once or twice 
 during the meal, and Lady Violet had coquettishly 
 smoothed out the lappets of her dress. I always 
 gave her lappets. I arranged her clothes, and they 
 were suitable to her age, and she really looked 
 very well for an old lady, barring the too juvenile 
 wig, which was none of my contriving. 
 
 All day long I thought of the evening, and 
 
 hoped — yes, actually hoped — to have a headache 
 
 again. Then, if Colonel Lisbon was still afraid 
 
 86
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 87 
 
 of playing, and Fidgie had to have her evening 
 walk 
 
 At dinner a squat little boy sat next me, a 
 recent importation and addition to the list of 
 possible heirs. He was, I was told, the son of 
 our host's cousin. He had been invited here to 
 plague the clerical couple, and, if possible, add to 
 the general sense of uneasiness. The boy appeared 
 shy. He said nothing, but consumed largely. 
 About half-way through dinner I raised my arm 
 to pass a tray of salted almonds to my neighbour, 
 whereupon the little fiend tweaked me unmerci- 
 fully in the fleshy under-part of my arm. I 
 squeaked, in irrepressible annoyance, so did he, 
 in malicious glee. I got red all over, and Lady 
 Violet glared at me as if I were the person in 
 fault. Colonel Lisbon never looked at me, but I 
 caught sight of him after dinner having a word 
 with that lad in the hall among the sticks and 
 cloaks. 
 
 Nobody seemed to care for bridge that night, and 
 Mr Hardman chose to have some music. Lady 
 Violet, who hated music, asked for her game of 
 b6zique. I could not refuse, of course, but oh, 
 the torture of prolonged attention to a game that 
 possesses none of the elements of interest belong- 
 ing to a game of skill ! Lady Violet's dry recurrent 
 exclamation, "Marriage to count!" got on my 
 nerves for the first time. In the midst of my 
 trials I saw Colonel Lisbon get up and go out 
 of the room. He made me no sign, which was
 
 88 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 tactful, for if he had, I should not have been able 
 to follow him. It would have been too marked. 
 I was not so far gone as that. 
 
 " Has Fidgie had her evening run ? " asked 
 Lady Violet suddenly, 
 
 " I don't think she has," said I. It was about 
 the first lie I had ever told in my life— since my 
 childish years, at any rate. 
 
 " How tiresome of you to forget ! You must 
 take her now, at once. ... I never saw any one 
 who hated taking the slightest trouble for others 
 as you do, Caroline. You should just see your 
 face ! " 
 
 I could not, of course, see my face, but if an 
 expression of insane joy can be construed into 
 one of acute boredom, that is the feat which the 
 purblind old woman was evidently performing, I 
 rose languidly, schooled by a by no means new- 
 born sense of diplomacy, only so far I had used 
 it chiefly in the avoiding of rows and what not. I 
 was thoroughly ashamed of myself, and yet quite 
 determined to persist in this intrigue or flirtation, 
 or whatever it is to be called. My whole character 
 seemed to be altering. I left the room and went 
 upstairs and gathered up Fidgie, who had been 
 aired and put to bed hours ago. 
 
 She naturally rebelled at being taken out of 
 her warm, satin - cushioned basket for a chilly 
 walk in the damp garden, but I did not allow 
 myself to be deterred by her cross grunts and 
 recalcitrant limbs, and firmly carried her down
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 89 
 
 and out by a side door, where I emptied her 
 out on to the garden walk, a sleepy, shapeless, 
 indisposed bundle. She waddled unwillingly along 
 the gravel after me, and I — I walked straight into 
 the arms of the man who came neither too slowly 
 nor too hastily, as his style was, to meet me. I 
 will attempt no explanation — no palliation. I was 
 punished enough afterwards. 
 
 He said in a low voice : " I knew quite well you 
 would come to me. It is Fate." 
 
 I was grateful to him for bringing in Fate. He 
 kissed me, then he put me away. 
 
 " Stop," he said. " I must speak first. I know 
 you are not a flirt. Can you ever care for me as 
 your husband, Carrie.? Do you by any chance 
 care for me at all ? I ventured to t/iz'nk you did. 
 No, I mean, I felt it ; I am not a vain man. I 
 am certain that I care for you desperately. It 
 has been very sudden — I can't help it. I am a 
 fool. I am worse, I am a pauper. It prevents 
 my daring to offer to marry you " 
 
 " For the present," I said, and then wished I had 
 not been so very business-like. But he took it nicely. 
 
 " For the present. You are right. I said you 
 were a Scotchwoman ! But it need not prevent 
 me from contemplating it — some day, in the near 
 future. Well, then, Carrie, shall we leave it there ? 
 Can you trust me?" 
 
 " To come back and marry me when you have 
 made your fortune ? Yes, if you still care for me. 
 If you should have left off caring by then, I should
 
 90 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 not want you to come back. That is the way I 
 look at it." 
 
 " And a deuced sensible way, too ! Carrie, you 
 are simply adorable. If there were more women 
 like you, we should have fewer matrimonial 
 muddles. And now tell me, are we to make this 
 wonderful fact public ? " 
 
 " If Lady Violet knew, she would not keep me 
 a moment." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " And I think, that if you are poor and I am 
 poor, I had surely better go on earning money up 
 to the very last moment." 
 
 " Carrie, how wise you are ! You justify my 
 rash act in my own eyes, for surely two such 
 inherently sensible people are bound to get 
 through somehow. But tell me — if Lady Violet 
 is not to know, how are we to meet ? " 
 
 " You must make friends with Lady Violet. 
 She is not so bad when you know her, and she 
 perfectly loves men, so she will make you free of 
 the house. Arrange that she asks you to come 
 and call in Dampier Square. I see no other way 
 of doing it." 
 
 " Won't that be rather mean ? A man doesn't 
 like " 
 
 " What are called woman's tortuous ways — I 
 know. But we have to be diplomatic. Besides, 
 if you don't — make love to me " 
 
 " On the premises ! You mean I must never 
 kiss you behind the door, if I get a chance?"
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 91 
 
 " You will never get a chance. Lady Violet has 
 eyes at the back of her head, and — I am not the 
 kissing sort, I think." 
 
 " You think ! That is good. My dear, believe 
 me, you are not more averse to kisses than any 
 other woman when it comes to the point. At 
 least, I hope not." 
 
 " Maybe ; but I have a day out every fortnight, 
 anyhow " 
 
 "Like a dear little servant. Well, well, we 
 must try to modify these conventions. We shall 
 manage all right, I fancy. Perhaps, who knows? 
 we shall be sooner out of the wood than we 
 expect. Something may turn up. I think I 
 shall begin to be very civil to old Ralph, and 
 cut these other people out. It's a fair field and 
 no favour. He was a self-made man, you know ; 
 there is no family name or tradition to keep 
 up. That malapert boy is only a cousin. By 
 the way, I chastised him well for his rude- 
 ness to you. It made my blood boil to see 
 how little they all made of it. You took it so 
 prettily " 
 
 " I don't think any one in this house has the 
 slightest chance of getting Mr Hardman's money," 
 said I. 
 
 " Don't you ? Well, I think the pink baby has 
 rather a good chance. He doesn't care a damn, 
 or seems not to, and that gives him a pull. ... I 
 say, they are making a move in there. I hear the 
 noise of chairs being pushed back. You must
 
 92 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 escape. Good night, darling. I am glad I have 
 been a damned fool ; are you ? " 
 
 I was off, and had no need to answer ; but I was 
 not offended, for, of course, the man who proposes 
 to a penniless woman is more or less of a fool. 
 Less, however, in my case, for I can work and 
 he can — look for work ! 
 
 You see, I already know the kind of man he 
 is, although I love him. He is the kind of man 
 that the busy-bee sort of woman / am, always 
 stumbles on. Jehane's philosophy ! Well, well, 
 women must work and men must — play, I 
 suppose. It's the rule all the world over, and 
 what are women, that we should complain of it ?
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 " I HAVE asked Colonel Lisbon to call," Lady 
 Violet announced to me in the train going home, 
 
 " Have you ? He seems pleasant," I returned. 
 
 It would not have done to express less interest 
 about any prospective visitor of Lady Violet's, and 
 I dared not express more. She was always lying 
 in wait to snub me. What was Colonel Lisbon, 
 her new broom, to Caroline Courtenay? What, 
 indeed ! And though this new broom happened 
 to have a peculiar interest for me, I had seen 
 so many of them adopted, voted indispensable, 
 and then thrown aside as useless. Lady Violet, 
 like most bores, was easily bored, I have noticed 
 that the dull person who contributes nothing, is 
 always the most exigeant and eager to be enter- 
 tained. But Colonel Lisbon, having in this case 
 a fairly strong incentive to secure Lady Violet's 
 good graces, was not likely to get himself dropped. 
 Beyond the possible attraction of myself, there 
 was another : we keep an excellent cook. Lady 
 Violet sometimes says : " Caroline, what will you 
 do when I die, for I have distinctly unfitted you 
 for suburban cookery." 
 
 93
 
 94 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 Now, Colonel Lisbon is a gastronome. I have 
 noticed that. 
 
 I was now as happy as it was in my nature 
 to be, and meant to do my duty both by my 
 lover and my employer. That is to say, I did 
 not mean to use Lady Violet's house for an 
 intrigue, for that is exactly what it would be, so 
 long as he forbade me to tell her of our engage- 
 ment. There were to be no hole-and-corner 
 assignations, no furtive hand-clasps in the intervals 
 of my service, no embracing behind doors and 
 last words on the hall mat. He could, if he chose, 
 take me out once a fortnight at one of the Bond 
 Street tea places. According to this arrange- 
 ment, he would never be able to kiss me, but 
 I fancied he would feel this privation more than 
 I should. Margot is right. Perhaps that instinct 
 has been starved out of me. 
 
 He has told me that the moment he came back 
 from Hardman Hall he was engaged to go off 
 on a yachting expedition with Lord Lyminge. 
 It was to be a fortnight's trip, or even a three 
 weeks one, so on my first free afternoon after 
 our return, I went to my club. 
 
 I had once in my life written an article, which 
 Jehane Bruce foisted into a magazine in order 
 to render me eligible for the delightfully con- 
 venient club, of which she herself was a full-blown 
 member and committee woman. Once having 
 stormed this fastness of literature, however, I was 
 wise enough to desist from the art which had
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 95 
 
 procured my entrance there, and simply enjoyed 
 the privileges of cheapness and light which this 
 particular club combines. Lady Violet is ignorant 
 of the fact of my membership. 
 
 I found Jehane Bruce eating a good square meal 
 of tea and steak in the coffee-room. While she 
 ate, she read. Her newspaper was propped up 
 against the teapot. 
 
 " That will all turn to leather inside you," I 
 remarked. 
 
 " Yes ; I have heard that theory, but this is 
 regular journalist's grub, you know. I suppose 
 we are a trifle leathery and tough. Can't be 
 helped. I have been obliged to run all my meals 
 into one to-day. Been out since ten, reporting. 
 Blowminster wedding, you know. Regular ronian 
 a ckj occasion. Public deeply interested. At 
 seven o'clock to-night I mean to incurt into the 
 domestic meal of the bereaved parents, and see 
 if I can find out where Lady Crail has gone for 
 her third honeymoon. It has been kept a dead 
 secret, you know." 
 
 " But, Jehane, will they ever let you in } There's 
 many a slip between the doorstep and " 
 
 "And the par', eh? Only the tip, after all. 
 Delordace delordace delordace is my motto. I 
 shall use it for all it's worth. Sit down, you 
 pampered minion of the aristocracy, and have your 
 tea, if you don't mind the smell of steak with it. 
 Have you seen your brother Perry lately?" 
 
 " No ; anything new ? "
 
 96 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 '* No — stale old story. He has jilted Desdemona 
 Cresswell, so she says." 
 
 " Only Desdemona would use such an old- 
 fashioned word. The Jilt. It takes one back to 
 Whyte Melville. Well, it will be no use her 
 producing his love-letters in court, for dear Perry 
 writes so vilely that no judge will be able to tell 
 whether they are love-letters or not." 
 
 " Carrie, you are always so spiteful when Perry 
 is concerned. You fight his battles like a jealous 
 woman. Nothing is bad enough for the girl he 
 takes on. Now I am sorry for her, especially 
 as her old deaf uncle has died and her home 
 broken up, and she can't settle to anything, and 
 is gone quite thin, I have offered her to pal 
 up with me for a bit — share my flat and halve 
 the rent. It's only twelve and six a week. I 
 am poor and lonely since they won't let me 
 keep my Chow any more." 
 
 " A girl who has had a love disappointment 
 won't be company ; moreover, she will have an 
 enormous appetite." 
 
 "Oh, I'll give her porridge ; it is very stodging. 
 Louy makes it with not more than a dozen lumps 
 to the square inch. And Louy's batter puddings ! 
 Solid mahogany ! Firm as old Albion's battered 
 rocks. I can eat anything — grass of the field, 
 even, like Nebuchadnezzar. It'll do Desdemona 
 good to rough it a little ; but still, you might 
 write to your precious Don Juan of an adorable 
 brother and scold him."
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 97 
 
 " For giving Desdemona Cresswell the oppor- 
 tunity of playing the martyr and enjoying Louy's 
 batter puddings. Don't you see that she is 
 Perry's match? They both seem to have time 
 to play at the game they both love, but they 
 are not really lovers, because neither of them 
 are serious. To establish that position, it 
 seems to me that one of them, at least, must 
 be in earnest. One of them must be like 
 the frogs in the story, if the other is to be 
 like the boys. Then things begin to hum, as 
 soon as either of the parties can be made to 
 suffer." 
 
 " Fancy, Carrie, you a lecturer on love ! I 
 thought you never had time to think of those 
 things any more than I have. Hard work drives 
 love to the wall. I have often thought that we 
 working women grow like men in that respect, 
 stolid and unenterprising, and take love as a 
 Cottar's Saturday Night affair merely. But, 
 as a matter of fact, the relations of a woman 
 to a man are not nearly so important as the 
 relations of a woman to her paper — or papers, 
 for she can be a pluralist, too, at that game. My 
 ideal is to be married — that is, to write for — all 
 the papers in London." 
 
 "There's a journalist's dream for you ! I hope, 
 dear, you will pull it off," I said ; then, growing 
 sententious : " But remember that the conditions 
 on which those alliances are best maintained is 
 that the parties conduct all their amours by letter. 
 
 G
 
 98 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 An editor should never see his contributor, then 
 he adores her." 
 
 "Tut, tut, Carrie, my dear, you know nothing 
 about it ! Editors are timid things, and can be 
 taken by storm Hke any one else. If I dress my- 
 self becomingly, and go and take my manuscript 
 in myself, ten to one the poor, wee, timorous, 
 shivering beastie dare not say No ! to so 
 much dashing assurance, but simply accepts one's 
 stuff just to get one out of the place and be 
 able to call his office his own again. I know 
 my own business. I have taken them all ways 
 now, and I am proud to say that I am at the 
 present moment on the staff of eight papers — 
 five weeklies and three dailies. That's something ! 
 I say, Carrie, do you remember my New Year's 
 Eve party.?" 
 
 " Rather ! The one bright spot in an un- 
 chequered winter ! " 
 
 " Mariuscha made a good haul then — by keeping 
 quiet mostly, that's her method. She has taken 
 on two of my men — I mean, two men whose 
 acquaintance she made that night, and I meet 
 them on the stairs nearly every day looking 
 bashful, because, after all, they only knew her 
 through me, and they never trouble to call on 
 me. Her flat simply reeks of smoke. The land- 
 lord hardly thinks it respectable ! " She laughed. 
 " One man is Herbert Langshire, the man Margot 
 muffed so stupidly, or, rather, she says her mother 
 did — and the other "
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 99 
 
 " I know. I met him in a country house. 
 Somebody I know calls him the pink baby." 
 
 " Who do you know, Carrie ? You look quite 
 conscious. But, really, how do you think Mariuscha 
 makes the money to pay for that nice flat ? It has 
 a couple more rooms than mine, and she keeps a 
 real cook." 
 
 "Doesn't she do anything?" 
 
 " So little now for Leadham, M.P., that it isn't 
 worth talking- about. She is at home all day, 
 smoking, and dressed like a princess. I say, 
 Carrie, aren't we getting rather nasty about her? 
 She's a fellow-worker after all." 
 
 That was so like the good Jehane. She enjoyed 
 gossip as much as anybody, but scrupled to dis- 
 count any pal's market value by indulging in it. 
 Neither did I wish to interfere with Mariuscha's 
 plans, so I changed the subject. 
 
 But if Mason had spoken true, one wondered if 
 Miss Lancaster had thought it worth while to 
 inform her two suitors of the provenance of the 
 comfortable flat, and would they approve if they 
 knew of the source of their lady-love's income? 
 
 I heard more of the Lancasters next day at tea, 
 when Mrs Iver Leadham called. She is my friend, 
 but I hardly raised my voice during her call. It 
 was ostensibly paid to Lady Violet to please me 
 and ameliorate my condition, as having indirectly 
 procured this satisfaction for my mistress. Mrs 
 Leadham is a person of great social importance. 
 She is, moreover, a kind, hasty, romantic woman,
 
 lOO A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 who loves to start from her sphere and study the 
 way the poor and unconnected live. The worse 
 off you are, the less favoured by fortune, the more 
 interest she takes in you. I have seen her in 
 silks and satins and all the signs of wealth, driving 
 about with the most pronounced dowds, and in 
 earnest converse with the shabbiest person in the 
 room at meetings or bazaars. Lady Violet notices 
 and deplores this fault in her. 
 
 After the usual social preliminaries, " I have got 
 a new governess," she announced, confident of our 
 interest — " a little grey-eyed thing, who dresses to 
 her eyes, in grey with silver buttons — doesn't it 
 describe her? She hasn't the ghost of a certificate, 
 but so interesting ! Her family have come to grief: 
 she had the kind of improvident father that dies 
 and floods the world with uncertificated governesses. 
 She can only come to me in the mornings ; she has 
 to look after her mother. There is another sister, 
 I hear, a selfish young lady, who lives her own life 
 ^ /a Ibsen, and shirks her responsibilities. The 
 world is so small — she actually does a little 
 secretarying for my husband, Michelle tells me — 
 so little that he has never spoken to me about 
 her." 
 
 " How interesting ! " murmured Lady Violet, who 
 wasn't a bit entertained. She has decent manners, 
 though, so Mrs Leadham was able to go on work- 
 ing out her little plot out loud. 
 
 " You see," she went on, " I make myself quite 
 a little story out of it all. The other girl is like
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN loi 
 
 the selfish elder sister in Grimm's tales. I hear 
 she is beautiful, and lives in chambers all by 
 herself. She does that sooner than take her turn 
 of playing beziquc with the old lady. They would 
 be richer if she lived with them and put all their 
 incomes together. It is like a novel, isn't it? 
 Michelle is pretty, too. Herbert, my husband's 
 brother, says so, and he is a judge. I sent him 
 down to the schoolroom with a message the other 
 day, and he said she only wanted feeding up, and 
 champagne ; so one night when he was with us, I 
 asked her to dine, but she refused, poor child, 
 because she couldn't leave her mother." 
 
 " Well, she won't have that inconvenient relation 
 for ever, presumably," said Lady Violet with venom. 
 
 " I only asked for one little evening out of three 
 hundred and sixty-five. Am I boring you, dear 
 Lady Violet? These workaday women interest 
 me so deeply, I am apt to forget that other people 
 may not share my feeling about them." 
 
 "They are generally designing frauds," said 
 Lady Violet. " There is one creature of that 
 sort I heard of, who has just lately wormed 
 herself straight into the heart of a rich old 
 widower." 
 
 " Has he married her ? " asked Mrs Leadham, 
 beaming all over with philanthropic smiles. 
 
 " No, not quite so bad as that, only left her his 
 money. I daresay it can be set aside by the right 
 people." 
 
 " Oh, but what a pity that would be ! I like a
 
 I02 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 romance. But about my little protegee — I took 
 Herbert to call on the Lancasters. The mother 
 is deaf and a bit of a bore, certainly, but very 
 handsome and decorative, and Herbert has a 
 passion for old ladies, we always tell him. He 
 cleverly admitted to a mad devotion for bezique, 
 and asked if he might come and play with her 
 one evening — say, Monday. That was the night 
 I proposed Michelle should dine with me. The 
 carriage was to bring Herbert and fetch Michelle 
 away. The old lady might dine at half-past six 
 as usual. Herbert could get back to dinner at 
 half-past eight with us. Do you see? It gave 
 me such pleasure to watch the girl's face. She 
 got as pink as a hedge rose, and didn't know 
 how to say no. The old lady, as usual, was 
 not proof against the persuasions of a handsome 
 young man. She would not hear of her daughter's 
 refusing the invitation. It will be next Monday." 
 
 They spoke of other things. They actually 
 mentioned Colonel Lisbon : London is small. 
 How I longed for the door to open and to hear 
 Staples announce him. That was the way it 
 would happen, and it might happen any day 
 now. Then I should meekly give him tea, and 
 keep Fidgie from annoying him — he hates animals 
 —and he would throw me, perhaps, three words, 
 as many as might pass unnoticed by Lady Violet, 
 and he would look at me now and then. I hoped 
 he would write to warn me of his coming. I 
 thought I should like to do my hair "big" for
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 103 
 
 the occasion, or a little bigger than usual, and 
 trust to Providence not to permit Lady Violet 
 to notice it. 
 
 " What an intensely selfish woman that is ! " 
 observed my mistress, when the door had closed 
 on Mrs Leadham. " Boring me with her working- 
 woman anecdotes and misplaced philanthropy the 
 whole afternoon ! The next thing will be, she 
 will have her precious brother marrying the 
 governess, and where will she be then ? Fancy 
 having a person you've been used to order about 
 all over the place, for a sister-in-law ! "
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 On Saturday afternoon I chose to go and pay 
 my call on Mrs Lancaster, late, so as to follow 
 the working of Mrs Leadham's little plot. To 
 retard the hour of my visit somewhat I went 
 to the club first and met Jehane. 
 
 " Well, how goes it ? How is the P.G., otherwise 
 the pig that pays the rent ? " I asked. 
 
 " It's a morbid P.I.G., and wants frills to its sheets 
 and clean towels every day. Preposterous ! " 
 
 " Come, come, Jehane ; you are too sincere to 
 put on frills, I know, but how often do you give 
 her clean towels ? " 
 
 " Once a week, if I remember ; but I haven't 
 got a clear half-dozen of anything, and some of 
 the old ones have got made into chair-backs. I 
 told her to take an antimacassar to dry her face 
 with the other day, and you should have seen 
 that face ! I can quite understand a man finding 
 her out before he had exactly said the word 
 that splices, as I understand your brother did." 
 
 " Perry behaved very badly, I am sure." 
 
 " So she says." 
 
 " Has she made a clean breast of it to you ? " 
 
 104
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 105 
 
 " She's all clean breast and confidence ad 
 nauseam^' said poor Jehane. " She comes into 
 my bedroom whenever I am washing my 
 face " 
 
 " Oh, if she doesn't pester you oftener than 
 that " 
 
 " Be quiet, Carrie ! One ought not to be always 
 washing one's face ; it roughens it. I tell you she 
 comes and sits on the foot of my bed — which is 
 off, by the way — to tell me something important 
 that she had left out in her account of such and 
 such a day's events. When she isn't splortching 
 out confidences, she is sitting mum and glum on 
 an ottoman. You know my ottomans are all 
 rather low and very hard, for they are made out 
 of old packing-cases, but she looks all the time as 
 if she were saying, like Queen Bloody Mary, ' Low, 
 low, not low enough for me.' Sometimes she 
 sticks her head in her hands and doesn't move 
 for half an hour. I have to shake her same as an 
 opium patient, and then she complains I put her 
 shoulder out. Then she fiddles with her food and 
 picks at it, and leaves bits, especially fat. She 
 says she can't help it if she's dainty — / call it 
 greedy." 
 
 " How does your food come in ? " 
 
 " Quite nicely, on two covered plates from the 
 cook-shop down below ; but she makes faces and 
 averts her gaze, and, while she is making up her 
 mind to tackle it, the fat all turns to grease on 
 her plate, of course."
 
 io6 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " She can't possibly eat fat when she is in love, 
 Jehane ! No one could ! " 
 
 " Why is she such a cur to be still in love after 
 such a very plain hint to leave off! Now, I have 
 no sentiment, but I have lots of pride. People 
 haven't wanted to marry me much — there was an 
 old gentleman once when I was sixteen — so I just 
 gave up the whole harassing emotional business 
 and settled down peaceably to be an old maid. I 
 daresay I have saved dozens of men's lives like 
 that, by not worrying them. And look at my own 
 even brow ! I never give the inferior sex a thought 
 from one year's end to another. I bless my one 
 or two grey hairs that keep the men away. I 
 can support myself, no fear ! " 
 
 " Yes, but one can't go on doing that for ever. 
 That is the worst of being independent, I think. 
 Sooner or later, when you begin to weaken and 
 get odious feminine illnesses, you want what is 
 called a man's strong arm " 
 
 " Tscha ! You seem a little infected, Carrie, 
 with this wretched femininity ! When I get to 
 that, I'll go to the workhouse. The only grievance 
 there, it appears, is hard seats and being separated 
 from the other sex ; and after my own ottomans 
 and the way I feel about men, neither of those 
 worries will affect me. I say, do you mind me 
 talking with my mouth full ? I have to do all 
 my stoking, as usual, in ten minutes." 
 
 " Poor Jehane ! Always in a hurry, always 
 off to report somebody or something, to bully
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 107 
 
 an editor or protect a comrade. Wet feet and 
 headaches ! I wonder you haven't got your 
 feminine illness long ago. Where have you left 
 Desdemona ? " 
 
 "At home. She never goes out now. We did 
 lunch together in the middle of the day, and 
 she agreed to make her own tea. It is all laid 
 handy in the cupboard, and the milkman hangs 
 the can on the door handle, if she only had the 
 sense to go and look for it. Louy has taken her 
 afternoon out. She's got a lover as small as 
 herself. Why don't you go and look Desdemona 
 up ? It would be kind to her, and then you can 
 form a clear idea of what your poor friend has to 
 suffer. From the deserted ones of this earth, the 
 Lord deliver us ! " 
 
 I took her advice. Miss Cresswell opened the 
 door to me. 
 
 "Oh, come in; or did you want Jehane ? She 
 is out, but I'm in. The slavey's out for the day. 
 They will have their day out, no matter how 
 it bothers you. I wonder if I can manage to 
 make you a cup of tea ? " She looked infinitely 
 distressed. 
 
 " Never mind about tea. I will come in and talk 
 to you," I said, gazing covertly at the earthy shade 
 of Desdemona's complexion, and feeling every inch 
 the sister of Perry and a brute. I knew, too, that 
 her cordiality was the result of her consideration 
 of me in the light of that relationship. Perry 
 ought not really to make any woman look like
 
 io8 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 that — but, a moment, were her looks the result of 
 Perry's unkindness, or Jehane's housekeeping? I 
 set myself to find out. 
 
 " How old is Louy ? " I asked. 
 
 " Only fifteen, poor little object." 
 
 " Fifteen ! She doesn't look big enough to turn 
 a mattress." 
 
 " She doesn't turn any mattresses," said Desde- 
 mona sadly. " One doesn't expect any refinements 
 of civilisation here. Jehane likes to pig along any- 
 how, and, of course, I have to pig along, too. I am 
 too spiritless to chafe, or leave, or try to ameliorate 
 my lot in any way." 
 
 " Perhaps Jehane turns her own mattress every 
 morning ? " 
 
 " I expect she does, if she cares about having it 
 done, which I should think highly improbable. I 
 leave everything to Louy, such as she is. She is 
 here for the purpose. If Jehane chooses to employ 
 a mere child in defiance of the Factories Act, it 
 isn't my business. I don't seem to care about 
 anything." 
 
 " In that state, other people's concerns are 
 naturally the first to go to the wall," I said 
 unkindly. She did not hear, for she was hunting 
 in the cupboard for something. A pat of ravaged- 
 looking butter came out, and a loaf. Desdemona, 
 in her delicate mauve muslin, with manicured 
 finger-nails, handled it as if it were pitch. 
 
 "The bread is three days old, as usual," she 
 said ; " and need we cut bread and butter ? I shall
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 109 
 
 be sure to cut myself, for I don't know how — never 
 done it in my life. One has to hold the bread 
 against one's chest and cut to one, hasn't one? 
 There is some milk at the door, perhaps. It 
 depends on the caprice of the milk-boy." 
 
 " Oh, I am rather a fatalist about that," said I. 
 " I am certain it is there. I'll go and see." 
 
 "Wait and help me to put the kettle on first," 
 implored Desdemona. " I hate the sight of lurid 
 taps and sinks, but it definitely needs filling, I am 
 afraid, before we can use it." 
 
 It ended in my fetching the milk, and filling 
 the kettle, and cutting the bread and butter, 
 Desdemona watching me the while with lack-lustre 
 eyes, and making ineffectual conventional protests. 
 Then we went into the sitting-room, and I was 
 about to sit down when she interposed : 
 
 " Don't sit on that chair, it isn't safe — or on 
 that — or on that. This ottoman is safest, though 
 hardest. Oh, how I hate these old Turkish 
 atrocities spread over everything, covering heaven 
 knows what ! " 
 
 " Are there " 
 
 " No. No beasts that I know of. But it's only 
 by the mercy of God, for nobody ever dusts here, 
 or brooms. Louy hasn't time." 
 
 "Why don't you have a go at it? It is very 
 good for the figure." 
 
 " I consider," said Desdemona, drawing herself 
 up, " that if I pay the rent, that is properly all my 
 share, and a very good share, too. I, at least,
 
 no A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 expect to be kept for that in table linen and food, 
 though I can't sleep or eat." She made a wry face. 
 
 " Can't Louy cook ? " 
 
 "She isn't even asked to. Two thick, reeking 
 platefuls of unmentionable provender came for us 
 from the shop at the bottom there. By the time 
 they have got upstairs, the whole thing has turned 
 to grease, the meat and the potatoes indistinguish- 
 able. And onions — Jehane likes onions ! She 
 says they induce longevity. Who wants longevity ? 
 At least, a life like this ! " She began to cry, 
 weakly, irritatingly, pathetically. I felt I must 
 speak to Perry. She was thinking of Perry, too, 
 for she burst out : "-lihe were to see me now ! " 
 
 "Look here, I'm his sister after all, and I will 
 send him to see you. Miss Cresswell." 
 
 " Call me Desdemona," she wailed. " You are a 
 darling, and much nicer than Perry. If women 
 would only see it. I think I shall end as a man- 
 hater, like Jehane. Tell me, do you think he 
 would come?" 
 
 " He might, if I drew a moving picture of you in 
 your present melancholy condition. A queen in a 
 novel, the lady in Comus, the princess in Hans 
 Christian Andersen. Only buck up, and don't 
 mope so openly, and make poor Jehane miserable." 
 
 " She is so cross and obstinate." 
 
 " She can't help it, you know, if she is less 
 fastidious than you. It helps her to bear her hard, 
 lonely life. She would have gone under long ago 
 if she had minded pin-pricks and peas in her
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN in 
 
 mattress, and so on. She has enormous pluck, 
 and I have the greatest respect for her, though I 
 do think she might manage to cast her lines in 
 cleaner places, if not pleasanter. Anyway, it's 
 cheap for you living with her, and you can call 
 it marking time till something better turns up. 
 Now, good-bye, dear, I must go down and ask 
 after old Mrs Lancaster." 
 
 " Mich' is actually going out to dinner. It is 
 quite an event," said poor Desdemona, trying hard 
 to take an interest in her fellow-woman, by way of 
 improving her position in my good graces. " Good- 
 bye, angel." 
 
 Michelle had gone away to dress when I went 
 in. Old Mrs Lancaster was in a pleased fuss. She 
 had not seen her daughter in a low dress since that 
 day when Mr Lancaster came back from the city 
 and told them that they had lost all their money. 
 Her cap-strings — beautifully got up by Mich', of 
 course — flittered on her shoulders. 
 
 Michelle was evidently taking great pains with 
 her attire. Long before she was ready the door 
 opened, and Mr Langshire was shown in, stiff, 
 smiling — a little district- visitorish in manner, it must 
 be owned. The carriage was below, he announced, 
 waiting for Miss Lancaster, and he hoped to have 
 the pleasure of escorting her down the hundred 
 granite stairs before beginning his game of bezique 
 with her mother. 
 
 Michelle, when she finally appeared, was hermeti- 
 cally sealed and wrapped up in a Shetland shawl
 
 112 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 which her fond mother naturally insisted on her 
 doffing. With many blushes, she complied, and I 
 must say that she was very pretty and her skin 
 very white. I wondered if that was because it had 
 been so well covered up all these years. 
 
 Mr Lano-shire took her downstairs. He was 
 obviously, to me, who knew his shy, emotion- 
 burrowing ways, a good deal epris. Was Michelle 
 going to accomplish what Margot Bligh, and her 
 own sister, and countless others had failed to do ? 
 The charming thing about it to me was that such 
 an idea evidently never crossed the old lady's 
 mind. It was plain that she was not a good 
 matchmaker, hadn't the rudiments of it, and 
 that's about the best way to manage things, 
 after all. 
 
 In about five minutes Mr Langshire came up- 
 stairs again, looking red and conscious. The king 
 had stooped to the beggar maid — contemplated 
 stooping still further ! That is the way I inter- 
 preted his glance. The game at cards was now to 
 begin. The green baize table was brought forward. 
 I helped, and was just going to take my leave, 
 thinking the play played out, when I heard a loud 
 rat-tat at the outer door, and the little out-at-heels- 
 and-elbows maid scuttling from her adjacent kitchen 
 to answer it. 
 
 " Company ? " I heard Mariuscha's deep voice in 
 the tiny hall, mimicking the slavey. "What do 
 you mean ? " 
 
 Then she appeared like a handsome black
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 113 
 
 tornado on the threshold, lugging in a large dress- 
 box. 
 
 " Where's Mich' ? I want her at once — to mend 
 a tear in the dress I'm going to wear at the 
 Journalists'. How are you, Carrie? Are you ill, 
 mum ? Have you got the doctor ? " 
 
 For Herbert Langshire, standing decorously at 
 the window, had, with praiseworthy equanimity, 
 not turned round at her entry. I stared at 
 Mariuscha with the glare of extreme interest and 
 some elation. It was a good scene. 
 
 "Where's Mich'? I want Mich'," repeated 
 Mariuscha, it must be confessed, in no gentle 
 tones. " Can't somebody speak ? " 
 
 " Mich' is dining out," said Mrs Lancaster. 
 " Don't bluster, dear, but say How do you do to 
 Mr Langshire." 
 
 " Bluster ! Mich' ! Gone out to dinner ! " was 
 all Mariuscha seemed able to say. Her forehead 
 was disagreeably corrugated with the shadows of 
 the lines she would get there when she was old. 
 In a moment she collected herself, and said bitterly: 
 " How do you do, Herbert ? I mistook your back. 
 No, I won't be able to see you later in my flat, 
 because I am just going out. Thanks, don't trouble 
 to see me down. I will go so far with Carrie." 
 
 " Fancy Mich' playing me such a trick ! " she said 
 to me, as we went downstairs. There were no men 
 present, she did not drawl now. " I wouldn't have 
 believed it. And Herbert — solemn idiot ! What 
 was he doing with mother? What is it all 
 
 H
 
 114 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 about ? What have they all been plotting against 
 me?" 
 
 " They are not plotting against you ; they are 
 only plotting to give your sister a little amuse- 
 ment. Mrs Iver Leadham Mich' is dining 
 
 there to-night." 
 
 " Mrs Iver Leadham ? I am her husband's 
 secretary ! She has never asked me to her house 
 in her life. I say, it's pretty hard. One may 
 slave away for years in a man's office and his 
 family not take the slightest notice of one, and 
 suddenly one's dull little sister, who lives at home, 
 and has nothing whatever to do with them, steps 
 calmly into your place, and gets the best of 
 everything." 
 
 " But I thought your sister was governess to 
 her children ? " 
 
 " So she is. I quite forgot," said Mariuscha, 
 with her brilliant, frosty smile, as we crossed the 
 cold hall and went out into the night air together. 
 Her voice was quite different, and she had resumed 
 her drawl, as she remarked airily : " Comme ca ce 
 trouve. After all, all things considered, I had 
 just as soon Mich' took Herbert off my hands. 
 He was getting tiresome." 
 
 " Wanting to paw you, do you mean ? Women 
 generally mean that by a man's being ' tiresome,' " 
 
 I asked. Both so cold ! I couldn't imagine 
 
 But Mariuscha evaded curiosity, as usual. 
 
 " There are many other ways — for a man — 
 of being tiresome to a woman like me," she
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 115 
 
 replied guardedly. " I simply haven't time for 
 Herbert." 
 
 " I notice you call him by his Christian name." 
 " He begged me to — once. Well, never mind. 
 It will come easier to me when I am his sister- 
 in-law."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 I KEPT my promise to Desdemona, and wrote a 
 sisterly letter, that is to say, a drastic and tactless 
 one, to Perry. Ill-judged communications of this 
 kind have usually no effect, so I was a little 
 surprised when, a week later, Perry came in and 
 called on me. It was Lady Violet's " day " at 
 home. Perry is good-looking, and is on intimate 
 terms with one and a half duchesses, so Lady 
 Violet could have no objection to his presence in 
 her drawing-room on that sacred day. Other 
 people called early and before tea-time, so I got 
 a fair amount of conversation with my brother. 
 I tried to talk to him of Desdemona, but he 
 would only talk of Jehane. 
 
 " A splendid creature, that Miss Bruce," repeated 
 Perry, ad nauseam. " Self-reliant, practical, sensible, 
 no nonsense about her. It is a shame that a fine 
 girl and potential mother like that, should have 
 to work hard for her living ! Why doesn't some 
 man marry her, and take her out of it } " 
 
 "Well, Perry dear, if you are so keen on her 
 
 being married " 
 
 " I said a man, not a beggar, Carrie ! But, I 
 
 ii6
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 117 
 
 tell you, Miss Jehane would be a beauty if she 
 were smartened up a bit. Such eyes ! Such a 
 figure, but no justice done it, of course. Such 
 hair — I made her a hat the other day with these 
 hands, and it suited her to a ' t' But she is ruining 
 her beautiful eyes with typewriting — it is a horrid 
 shame." 
 
 " Typing doesn't injure the eyes particularly. 
 Crying is far worse." 
 
 "Jehane never cries, you bet." 
 
 "No, but Desdemona does," said I, rushing 
 her in. 
 
 " Yes. When I first met Desdy, she was cry- 
 ing for sheer tiredness and cussedness combined, 
 sitting on the gangway of those cheap four-shilling 
 seats at the opera. She had been at work all 
 day in some office or other — hunted, worried, 
 slave-driven " 
 
 "Well, when her work was done, why didn't 
 she go home to bed, instead of spending her 
 money on a hard wooden seat that she couldn't 
 enjoy ? " 
 
 "You're as hard as that seat, Carrie. After 
 all, the girl was young — if anaemic — she had to 
 have her share of the pleasures, not to mention 
 the emotions, of life. I ' poor-poored ' her, and we 
 became friends. I am the sworn knight of the 
 working woman " 
 
 " But there isn't room for all their sleaves in 
 your helmet." 
 
 " No, is there ? " said Perry ingeniously. " They
 
 ii8 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 seem to expect it, though. Anyway, I fight their 
 battles for them, and Hsten to their potty little 
 troubles, and sympathise with them, and lend 
 them a fiver now and then. One gets queer bits 
 of human nature that way, you know. There was 
 little Flossie Trentham, who lived all by herself 
 in one room for twopence halfpenny a year. A 
 beast of a man — we're all beasts! — wanted to 
 take her out to dinner, and goodness knows what 
 beside, but the brave little kid wouldn't. She 
 kept straight ; but she has often told me of the 
 awful revulsion of feeling she had, going home 
 to her crust in a cupboard and her bare boards, 
 and thinking of the lights of the Carlton, and the 
 warmth of the cosy flat she had refused. It 
 doesn't do to get so sorry for people as I do. 
 It is apt to land one in tight places, and call 
 out the dibs that are not always in one's waistcoat 
 pocket." 
 
 " Yes, Perry. Then were you ever actually 
 engaged to Desdemona ? " 
 
 " No, Caroline. For what do you take me ? I 
 may be a brute, but I'm not a fool. Though she 
 is far nicer than she used to be — contact with 
 Jehane's larger nature has just about improved 
 her." 
 
 I should have said something striking to Perry 
 just then, if the door had not opened, and Staples 
 announced with gusto — a new man! — "Colonel 
 Lisbon ! " 
 
 I only got this much said to my brother, " Has
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 119 
 
 she also given you leave to call her by her Christian 
 name ? " which was weak, and then, with my eyes 
 downcast, I applied myself to giving my lover a 
 cup of tea, after a perfunctory companion-like 
 handshake. Then Lady Violet submerged him 
 in society on dits^ and Perry, referring to my 
 remark, which had somehow by that time gone 
 for me into the prehistoric plane, said : 
 
 " She lets me call her Jehane — yes. We are 
 more like brother and sister — brother with two 
 sisters, looks more like it. I can do what I choose 
 with them both. I put in time to call there, most 
 days " 
 
 " Don't you find the stairs rather trying, dear ? " 
 
 " Just nip up them like a two-year-old. It's 
 nothing when I know there are two nice girls 
 waiting for me on top. I took 'em both out to 
 dinner the other day — real good champagne dinner 
 at the new restaurant. They both starve them- 
 selves, I can tell you that. The working girl in 
 London always does. It is quite serious. Women 
 who live alone always end by eating slops and 
 wearing teagowns. You need a man about to 
 keep you women up to the mark. And Jehane 
 looks simply ripping with a little colour in her 
 cheeks." 
 
 " Never mind Jehane's colour ! Do you see 
 that man over there, talking to Lady Violet, 
 Perry ? " 
 
 " Man who's so becoming to you, eh ? " 
 
 " What do you mean, silly ? "
 
 I20 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " Because since he came in, dear, you've had 
 nearly as fine a colour as Jehane. Well, Carrie, 
 he's a good-looking chap, if a little nutcrackery. 
 Is he down on his luck, or so on ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Does he strike you as out at 
 elbows ? " 
 
 "Oh, no, not he. Gentlemen of fortune never 
 wear shabby coats." 
 
 " He's not a gentleman of fortune, as it happens." 
 
 " Ah, there, you see, you do know all about him. 
 Well, dear, if your little affections are fixed on 
 him, I'm sorry, for I can see the old lady won't 
 give you a chance of a look in, unless I oppose my 
 superior attractions to his. I'll go and take her off 
 him. Give him some tea — a better cup than you 
 gave me. He is a man, and not a brother — all the 
 difference ! " 
 
 Perry was as good as his word. Colonel Lisbon 
 came over to me, but refused my offer of more tea. 
 His eyes were searching my face, and gleaming in 
 the old way, but his tongue spoke perforce in the 
 language of commonplace. 
 
 " How have you been all this long time ? " he 
 said. " I have so often wondered. When our 
 yacht lay in Arosa Bay, and the whole sea turned 
 phosphorescent one evening, I was reminded of 
 those funny little goldfish that were the occasion 
 of our meeting " — here he dropped his voice 
 skilfully — " and of your lying in my arms, 
 Carrie." 
 
 "Hush! It was not the goldfish that made
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 121 
 
 me turn faint, but the smell of the tadpoles, if 
 you remember. That, and the heat, the spring 
 weather " 
 
 " The sour, sweet spring, as you called it then. 
 I remember. Ah. how it suited you ! It was 
 you, you, Carrie — the little touch of bitterness, like 
 some rare fruit that is tart upon the tongue." 
 
 " What fruit is that, Colonel Lisbon, that you are 
 telling Miss Courtenay about? Did you meet it 
 on your travels ? " interposed Lady Violet from the 
 other end of the room. One man was not enough 
 for her. Poor Perry looked snubbed, and at the 
 same time made a face of sympathy with me. 
 
 "The mango. Lady Violet, In the fiords and 
 morasses of Norway " 
 
 " Come over here, won't you ? and tell me all 
 about Norway," commanded my mistress, " And, 
 Caroline, give me another cup of hot water," 
 
 The kettle was no longer boiling. She knew 
 that. I was a fast prisoner at my tea-table, on 
 parole with the bell - rope, until her outrageous 
 behest should have been performed, (Lady Violet 
 was suffering from indigestion, she said, I thought, 
 I even feared, although I hated her, that it was 
 something much more serious.) Colonel Lisbon 
 went over to the other side of the room. Perry 
 left Lady Violet and came to me, and bade me 
 good-bye. 
 
 " Jehane wants you to come to tea with 
 us " 
 
 " With us ? " said I, very crustily, though, indeed,
 
 122 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 that crust had no reference either to Perry or to 
 his two lady-loves. 
 
 "Yes, on Sunday. That's your day out, isn't it ? 
 Bring the lantern-jaws, if you can get him." 
 
 " He is Lady Violet's friend, and he is extremely 
 good-looking," said I ; " and if I could get him to 
 walk out with me, as you suggest, I certainly 
 shouldn't waste him on going to tea with you and 
 your two turtle doves." 
 
 " Won't you come alone, then ? " 
 
 " I'll write," said I. " I believe I'm engaged to 
 go to Margot Bligh, Good-bye, Perry. Divide 
 your favours as equally as you can." 
 
 " Nay, I simply cant marry them all," said Perry 
 deprecatingly. " I know about a hundred hard- 
 working girls in flats, all equally nice, and, of 
 course, I'm equally nice to all of them. Good-bye, 
 old girl. Try to come. I'm going to send in 
 a Buzzard cake, and some sweets. They fatten. 
 Jehane wants plumping out a bit, then she'll be 
 stunning." 
 
 I blew out the light of the spirit kettle. Lady 
 Violet having received her hot water, wandered 
 about the room a little, rearranged an ornament 
 or two, and finally drifted out of the door in a 
 weak, indeterminate way. I wondered if Colonel 
 Lisbon, who had never even raised his head as I 
 departed — from policy surely ? — would write and 
 propose to profit by my Sunday out ? I had told 
 him of it when we last parted. It was my only 
 chance of seeing him alone. He could easily write
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 123 
 
 and make an appointment, and, of course, I should 
 find a letter from him on my plate to-morrow. 
 So it was particularly stupid of me, when I heard 
 the door bang behind him twenty minutes later, 
 to sit down on my box, covered with an anti- 
 macassar, and cry at the clang of the big door 
 reverberating through the house. It is an un- 
 pleasant, hateful noise at the best of times, and 
 when it signifies the departure of what one loves 
 best in the world, it assumes the accent of doom. 
 Before I had done crying, Lady Violet called. 
 Her voice sounded weak, cracked, uncertain. It 
 seemed as if she had been somehow roughly 
 shaken up, and some unsuspected lesions laid bare. 
 I hurried downstairs. Her words were strangely 
 at variance with the ideas suggested by her tired 
 voice. 
 
 " Have I no other afternoon gown ? " she asked 
 me. " I don't care for this one on me at all." 
 
 " You have your new glac6 silk." 
 
 ' Remind me to put that on to-morrow. Don't 
 forget ! Though they do say taffeta ages " 
 
 I stared at her cavernous cheeks, which seemed 
 to me quite green in the hollows. Her wig was 
 more antipathic to her complexion than ever. She 
 had grown to my accustomed eyes considerably 
 thinner — a bad sign at her age. She accentuated 
 my suspicions by tugging hard at the obviously 
 unsupported basque of her bodice. 
 
 " Welman dresses me too old and stout," she 
 said. " I have grown thinner, on the contrary.
 
 124 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 Come and read to me, Carrie, for goodness' sake, 
 and don't stare so ! You have one expression 
 which is absolutely sheeplike. By the way, I have 
 asked Colonel Lisbon to dine with us quietly on 
 Saturday. Order things — have it nice. He 
 amuses me." 
 
 There was no letter for me the next day. He 
 evidently meant to speak to me on Saturday if he 
 could get a chance, and make some arrangement 
 for the morrow, and I had said that I would have 
 no hole-and-cornering, no kissing behind doors, 
 nothing that would be vulgar and unsuitable for 
 a woman in my position ! I had, moreover, 
 promised that he might have me all to himself 
 on Sundays sometimes, that he might take me to 
 tea at some quiet place, perhaps even to dinner 
 at a respectable restaurant, where it would not be 
 compromising to be seen together. There we 
 might have, perhaps, taken each other's hands over, 
 not under, the table for a moment. It was all that 
 could be permitted to lovers in our case, and it 
 might have been attained by the outlay of a letter 
 which cost nothing, and entailed no risks, for I am 
 at least exempt from the necessity of submitting 
 my correspondence to Lady Violet. 
 
 I was so hurt that I sat down to the corner of 
 my dressing-table in my own room, pushed away 
 all the brushes and things, and consummated a 
 rash act. I wrote to Jehane, and accepted her 
 invitation to tea next Sunday. 
 
 The rest of the week passed away sleepily,
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 125 
 
 calmly, wearily. Lady Violet consulted a specialist 
 on Friday, but refused to give me any account of 
 his examination. I suppose he told her that she 
 was suffering from an excess of uric acid, the sort 
 of thing they tell so many tiresome old women, 
 and which annoys, without cautioning them. It 
 must have been something of this kind, or she 
 couldn't have kept it to herself. Only, she seemed 
 to experience a strange difficulty in walking, and 
 spoke pathetically once or twice of having recourse 
 to her bete noire, a bath-chair. 
 
 " I have always vowed, Carrie, that I would not 
 become a bath-chair woman," she said, " but I did 
 not say I would die first, did I ? " 
 
 This was a joke. I duly hee-hee'd ; I was so 
 sad myself, that I was able to feel sorry for her. 
 
 On Saturday, punctual to the hour, Colonel 
 Lisbon came. I have said he was a very hand- 
 some man, and he looked his best in evening dress. 
 We were four. Old Dr Jenkins had been convened 
 to make us symmetrical, and to talk to me. It was 
 not necessary, as a general thing, for me to be 
 talked to, but Lady Violet was sensible enough to 
 allow for a possible instinct of courtesy latent in 
 her guests, and made their minds easy by providing 
 a half-deaf, half-blind vis-a-vis for me. I was to 
 be no tax on Colonel Lisbon, who was thus left 
 free to devote himself solely to his hostess. 
 
 I bellowed mildly at Dr Jenkins all through 
 dinner in a painstaking, consecutive fashion, so 
 as to leave no loopholes for possible remarks
 
 126 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 addressed to me by the younger man, and Lady 
 Violet really enjoyed herself. Not so my ancient 
 partner, who vastly preferred his patient to me. 
 Dr Jenkins quite resented the fact, so sternly 
 presented to him, that a handsome man in his 
 prime, has it all his own way with an old woman, 
 but he had his revenge. 
 
 The dinner was consumed — I had ordered it 
 very carefully — the liqueurs, the wines, the 
 cigarettes were all on the table. Conversation 
 flagged. We had sat an hour and a half. Lady 
 Violet was tired, the shades under her eyes were 
 lilac. After picking a crystallised orange, she rose 
 totteringly, with the conventional phrase, but with- 
 out catching my eye . . . the two men stood up 
 to let us pass. . . . 
 
 The candle nearest to Colonel Lisbon fell on to 
 the cloth, and set alight the fluffy table-centre, 
 which was Lady Violet's pride and delight. It 
 came from Constantinople, and purported to be 
 the cast-off" veil of the principal Sultana. It blazed 
 up at once, and Lady Violet, whose nerves were 
 worth nothing after the strain of the long dinner, 
 fainted. 
 
 Then there was a hulla-baloo. Dr Jenkins and 
 Staples hauled Lady Violet into the back dining- 
 room through the folding doors, while Colonel 
 Lisbon and I put the fire out. We worked hard. 
 Nobody minded us. Staples and Dr Jenkins were 
 to be seen through the opening, clustered over 
 Lady Violet's prostrate figure, and while they were
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 127 
 
 all thus deeply engaged, Colonel Lisbon walked 
 softly up to the curtains and pulled them together. 
 He came back to me with a victorious smile, 
 took me in his arms and kissed me. 
 
 I could hardly breathe, much less speak. Yet 
 his embrace was gentle, courteous, perfect, as one 
 might say. It wore, however, an air of premedita- 
 tion that vexed me, and I was quite prepared, when 
 he let me go, for his remark : " Clever trick, that, 
 wasn't it ? " 
 
 " Whose trick ? " 
 
 " Mine, of course. Does Dr Dodderer look 
 capable of it ? Besides, he had no motive to wish 
 to obtain a tete-a-tete with little Carrie Courtenay. 
 Darling, how pretty you are ! " 
 
 " You have spoilt Lady Violet's table-centre." 
 " I can get her another. It was worth that to 
 hold you quivering in my arms. Dearest, you are 
 most adorably shy, you know." 
 
 "I am not so much shy," I said sadly, "as shocked. 
 I daresay I am stupid, but I have such a dislike to 
 tricks and subterfuges of all kinds." 
 
 " And I delight in them. ... It is all that is left 
 to the primitive savage in us. I can't carry you 
 off bodily, Carrie, so I commit a kind of arson to 
 get two words with you. Now tell me, what are 
 you going to do to-morrow ? " 
 
 " I am going out to tea with some people." 
 " Not with some people. With me." 
 " I can't. I promised to go and see Jehane Bruce 
 and Miss Lancaster."
 
 128 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " Fine women — but they must both give way to 
 the superior savage. I have the best claim. I 
 am your lover." 
 
 He looked across the table at me, over the 
 ruins of the Sultana's veil, and I should perhaps 
 not have been able to withstand the appeal of his 
 eyes — but suddenly the curtain was pushed aside, 
 and Dr Jenkins came through. It was lucky that 
 I was on the opposite side of the dining-table to 
 Colonel Lisbon, for Staples followed the doctor, 
 and she is neither blind nor deaf. 
 
 " Lady Violet had recovered," said the old man. 
 " She is now in the drawing-room, and hopes that 
 Colonel Lisbon will accompany me upstairs after 
 having taken wine. Will you take wine, sir ? " 
 
 I escaped. I had no more talk with my lover 
 that evening. 
 
 We had many, many more evenings like this, 
 barring the fire. Colonel Lisbon dined again, 
 lunched often, in fact scarce a day passed with- 
 out his assisting at some meal or other. Lady 
 Violet grew weaker. Jenkyns called oftener and 
 talked earnestly to Colonel Lisbon. I was quite 
 out of it. 
 
 One pleasant incident enlivened a dull, dreary 
 winter. Little Michelle was married to her 
 Herbert. Her sister was her one handsome, 
 highly-complacent bridesmaid. For Michelle was 
 good enough to take their joint mother along 
 with her to Hans Place, an arrangement with 
 which Mariuscha did not quarrel.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 MariusCHA'S flat was furnished on quite a different 
 plan from that which had dictated the arrangement 
 of that of Jehane Bruce. Turkish and Syrian 
 hangings were Jehane's fetish ; to Mariuscha they 
 were anathema. They made work. On the other 
 hand, Mariuscha ran to Httle cups and trays — hers 
 was a smoker's den. 
 
 She sat therein for long hours alone, and smoked. 
 She was Eastern in her houri-like proclivities, her 
 power of gorgeous inanition, her imperial j^r niente. 
 I have sometimes sat with her for ages, watching 
 her inhale and make smoke rings, languidly 
 extended on a wicker reclining chair, her black 
 skirts betraying the stiff white frills of her petticoat, 
 negligently tossed across her ankles. Mariuscha 
 always dressed in black, very soberly. I suppose 
 she found her feminine outlet in beautifully got-up 
 petticoats, and in carefully dressed hair. 
 
 Margot Bligh was painting her portrait. But 
 she had not been able to induce the languid beauty 
 to give her sittings at her studio ; all she could 
 obtain was permission to come and do what she 
 
 129 I
 
 I30 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 could at a portrait of " Mariuscha At Home." She 
 profited by this somewhat ungracious permission — 
 Margot was incapable of accepting a rebuff— and 
 she was, besides, a hard worker. So by the end of 
 April, the portrait of "Mariuscha Smoking" was 
 far advanced. The painter was very keen on 
 having the work exhibited to Mr Hardman, who, 
 she fondly hoped, would purchase it. Though 
 Miss Bligh sincerely disapproved of her model's 
 connection with him, she regarded it in the light 
 of good business, and would not scruple to profit 
 by it if she could. 
 
 But Mariuscha sternly refused to " let the old 
 boy know" that a portrait of herself was on the 
 stocks. 
 
 " No, Margot, don't ask me. I have seen nothing 
 of Mr Hardman for several years." 
 
 " Who has forbidden it ? " asked Margot curiously. 
 " Society," answered Mariuscha shortly, puffing 
 out some pretty smoke rings and threading them 
 nonchalantly. 
 
 " People thought your friendship improper, I 
 suppose. What censorious beasts people are ! " 
 
 " You think so yourself," Mariuscha answered 
 with her usual directness. 
 
 " Oh, I — 1 think we professional women — I 
 consider you professional, because you do a bit of 
 secretarial work now and then, don't you, dear ? — 
 professional women are absolved from convention. 
 We simply can't afford to pay for chaperonage. 
 That's about it. Who gave you your lovely
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 131 
 
 necklace? I have often wondered. Did Mr 
 Hardman ?" 
 
 "An old Miss Brown, of Paisley," replied 
 Mariuscha, smoking on solemnly. " I have had 
 it ages." 
 
 " Like you have that dress. It is wonderful how 
 you keep your things ! " 
 
 " I am neat." 
 
 " But with all that cigarette ash about " 
 
 " I have plenty of trays," said Mariuscha, knock- 
 ing off a heavy tip as she spoke, perfectly aware 
 that Margot had duly resented her transparent 
 equivocation about the necklace. Margot was 
 deadly curious and a cat, but Mariuscha wanted 
 to know what was being said about her. She 
 knew, besides, that Casimir Livingston had com- 
 missioned the portrait now in hand, so that if Mr 
 Hardman could indeed be induced to purchase 
 " Mariuscha Smoking," he would only get a replica. 
 Those were Margot's ways. 
 
 The hours wore on. Margot painted with 
 assiduity. Mariuscha smoked negligently. The 
 artist did all the talking. 
 
 " Is Mr Leadham tiresome to work for ? " she 
 asked presently. 
 
 " No. Why ? " 
 
 " He seems to give you plenty of days off." 
 
 " I take them." 
 
 " How do you manage ? " 
 
 " I say I have a headache. It's often true." 
 
 " How many a day do you smoke, Mariuscha ? "
 
 132 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " About five-and-twenty, or more." 
 
 " Your under-lip is sprinkled with bits of tobacco 
 now. I suppose smoking is meat and drink to 
 you ? I imagine your commissariat is no trouble 
 — they always say smokers have no appetite." 
 
 " A crust and a bone." Mariuscha smiled. 
 
 " I wonder you keep your little white teeth. By 
 the way, to change the subject, you have heard 
 that Mr Hardman is failing?" 
 
 " Only from you. You are the only person I 
 know who sees him." 
 
 " I saw an envelope addressed to you in his 
 handwriting on the hall table as I came in." 
 
 " I suppose you will not believe me when I tell 
 you there is no sort of communication to me 
 inside it. But you may think what you like." 
 
 " Oh, I wish I could give that speech in the way 
 you said it, in my picture. It's you — you are a 
 regular Slav, Mariuscha." 
 
 « What's that ? " 
 
 " Oh, a foreigner, or a fatalist of sorts — I don't 
 know. Look here, I'm going to work." 
 
 Mariuscha smoked three more cigarettes, and 
 the sitting was over. It was four o'clock. Margot 
 had to go to an unimportant private view of 
 pictures somewhere or other, where they gave you 
 your tea. She was going for her tea. As she 
 descended the stairs leading down from Mariuscha's 
 flat, she met young Mr Livingston going up. 
 
 " You will find Mariuscha at her tenth cigarette. 
 Do try to persuade her to drop smoking for a bit.
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 133 
 
 You can't think how disgusting it is to see a 
 pretty girl with her lips all over tobacco." 
 
 With this she left him. He rang the bell of 
 Mariuscha's door, and she opened it by pulling 
 a string from where she sat. Her maid was 
 out. 
 
 The first thing the young man observed was 
 that Mariuscha's under-lip bore no trace of tobacco. 
 She was fairer than even he had thought. Her 
 pose of indifference was more obvious than usual. 
 It was what had attracted him to her. She was 
 a beautiful savage, who did not care whether he 
 was attracted or not. He adored her. He 
 disapproved of her. Certain serious charges that 
 Margot Bligh had insinuated against her, had 
 sunk deeply into his mind. He hated Margot 
 Bligh, but he wanted these charges refuted. 
 
 " I am so glad you are in, Mariuscha," he said, 
 calling her by her Christian name for the first 
 time. He had been given leave to do so, but 
 up to now he had never availed himself of the 
 permission. " I wish I could persuade you to do 
 something — to please me," he said, plunging into 
 his business at once. " It is this : don't see that 
 little cat. I met her on the stairs. Whenever I 
 see her, she worries me by the things she says 
 about you." 
 
 " I know she has got what they call a down 
 on me," said Mariuscha, smiling kindly, " But 
 then, you know, I never discourage any one. I 
 let them be themselves. Every one to me seems
 
 134 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 nearly alike, all mean, all petty, all seeking their 
 own interests — as, indeed, I am myself. I don't 
 pretend to be less selfish than the rest of the 
 world." 
 
 " You seem to have been brought up in a 
 pretty cynical school," he said, without thinking 
 what he was saying, since what he was going 
 to say was so much more important. " You have 
 knocked up against hard people for so long, poor 
 girl. That is the worst of earning one's own 
 living. I always think nice women ought to 
 have somebody to stand between them and the 
 brutal world. A father, or a brother, if not a 
 husband." 
 
 " I have a mother," said the girl shortly ; " but 
 somehow she is no more good to me than I am 
 to her, and that's not much. You know, I'm not 
 what is called a good daughter ; Michelle is." 
 
 " Don't abuse yourself, please. You are all 
 right to me. You know you are. You are more 
 than all right, Mariuscha, you are everything ! " 
 
 " A proposal — what ? " 
 
 " Darling, you knew it was coming, didn't you ? 
 Say you did ! " 
 
 " Oh yes." 
 
 "And, tell me, what did you mean to do about 
 it?" 
 
 " Accept it," answered the girl ; " but now, if 
 Margot has been at you, telling you dreadful 
 things about me, all I can say is, you had better 
 go away and believe them, if you want to."
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 135 
 
 " I don't see why I should do the conventional 
 thing-, and perhaps wreck two lives — certainly 
 mine. I settled that I would come here to-day 
 and ask you certain questions. If you choose 
 to answer them, well and good. If you refused, 
 well and good still. It could make no real 
 difference whether you gratified my — curiosity 
 or not." 
 
 " Except to your peace of mind," said Mariuscha, 
 " no real difference. Your ' real ' touches me, and 
 I don't think I would call it curiosity exactly. 
 You want to know whether I am straight ; isn't 
 that it?" 
 
 He bowed his head. She rose, put down her 
 cigarette, and came to him. 
 
 " I will let you kiss me," she said. " And I 
 suppose I could not do that if — what Margot 
 Bligh, my very good friend, tells you — were true. 
 . . . Now, if you care to make any enquiries as 
 to the details of the case, I'll answer them. Have 
 a cigarette ? " 
 
 " No, thank you. We won't talk about the 
 matter any more." 
 
 " But I am curious to hear what my friend 
 says about me. Or are you afraid of giving her 
 away ? It does not seem to me that we either 
 of us owe her any particular loyalty." 
 
 " Indeed, we don't. Well, dear, she talks the 
 absurdest rot, and spiteful, too ! Ridiculous ! She 
 says, for one thing, that old Ralph Hardman pays 
 the rent of this flat."
 
 136 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " She is right. The cheque for the quarter is 
 lying in the hall now." 
 
 " But, dear " 
 
 " Will you hand me that tray at your elbow ? 
 Remember, I have answered you faithfully and 
 truly on the main point, and it seems to me that 
 these minor details do not in the least affect the 
 position. Still, if you care to know — I suppose 
 you think in your world, that an honourable 
 woman cannot let a man pay the rent of her 
 house for her, without being expected to give 
 an equivalent?" 
 
 He stammered something in the affirmative. 
 
 " But supposing the donor doesn't ask for an 
 equivalent? There are a few men in the world 
 generous enough to give all for nothing — you 
 know Ralph Hardman ? Does he not strike you 
 as such a man ? " 
 
 " I respect Ralph Hardman enormously." 
 
 " Well, then, and so do I. And I have surely 
 had a better opportunity of forming an opinion 
 on his character than even you. A finer, nobler 
 nature never existed, you may take my word 
 for it. He was sorry for me. He liked me. He 
 liked me very much. He is out and out a 
 gentleman. The one you have to condemn 
 for want of all the finer feelings you admire is 
 me!" 
 
 She touched her breast with her hand dis- 
 paragingly. 
 
 " Come and sit beside me — not too close, please.
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 137 
 
 I don't want you to take my hand till 1 have told 
 you all about it. Perhaps you won't care to then. 
 Well, even then I can't help it. I am as I was 
 made. Listen ! Eight years ago, when we lost 
 all our money, I got a little job to do some copy- 
 ing in the British Museum. It was for a funny, 
 fussy old gentleman — Mr Hardman, in point of 
 fact. He took a fancy to me, and asked me to 
 call on his wife — all fair and square. They had no 
 children. He took to me ; she didn't mind me, I 
 can truly say that. I was living with mother and 
 Michelle then, and worrying their lives out. I 
 ought to live alone ; I am not domestic. He saw 
 that. He took a flat for me. Mother and Mich' 
 thought I earned the rent. But Mrs Hardman 
 knew all about it, mind you. Then they asked 
 me to stay with them down at their place in the 
 country. I went there often after that, I made 
 up my mind the moment I crossed the threshold 
 of Hardman Hall. I saw the whole situation at a 
 glance — this old, ugly, weak man, and a crowd 
 of wretched, undeserving people begging and 
 manoeuvring, with no more right to inherit from 
 a nouveau riche, as Mr Hardman was, than I had- 
 ... I had an eye for a manuscript, and I helped 
 him to decipher some things there that were quite 
 cryptic. Of course he adored me — as a secretary 
 mostly — hardly at all as a woman." 
 
 She paused, and went on : 
 
 " I had to work pretty hard for this position. I 
 had to be indefatigable, to be subservient, devoted
 
 138 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 to his library and to him. All men are alike. I 
 had to let him kiss me — once or twice — I suppose 
 to gratify a sense of conventional rakishness from 
 which even inveterate bachelors are not free. 
 
 But " Here she went pale for the first time ; 
 
 it was her way of blushing. " I should like you to 
 understand that I don't mean that his kisses were 
 like yours. If they had been, you understand, I 
 could never have even suggested your kissing me 
 Do I give you pain ? " 
 
 " Rather. At least, ycu are honest." 
 
 " Oh yes ; I am honest. But I am constitu- 
 tionally lazy, and I like comfort, and I was afraid 
 of being poor, of having to work and spoil my 
 hands and my face. You needn't talk — some men 
 are like that, too. They cannot bear the thought 
 of having to work hard. It would have killed me. 
 I could never have done it, I know. If this 
 Hardman thing had not turned up I should have 
 gone to the " 
 
 " Don't say it," said he, stopping her mouth with 
 his hand. 
 
 " You think me horribly immoral, I see. In 
 fact, you consider the Hardman business a wrong 
 move ? " 
 
 " Of course I do. Any man would. Women, 
 somehow, don't. But I think all the wrong of it 
 is somehow counterbalanced by your frankness. 
 I like it. I feel I know where I am with you. It 
 must have been fairly painful for you to tell me 
 all this, and of your own free will, too. You have
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 139 
 
 blinked nothing, not even the kisses. You have 
 rather a queer sense of morality, I must say." 
 
 " And you cannot cure it. I am Mr Hardman's 
 heiress, and mean to remain so. What is to be 
 done with me?" 
 
 She crossed her hands on her lap, and looked 
 extremely haughty. But she was not in the least 
 prepared for Livingston's view of her admission, 
 .so carelessly made. He raised the pitch of his 
 voice. 
 
 " He has left you his money ? " 
 
 "Yes, and the place. It's a lovely old place, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 " Good God ! That's the other thing that 
 Margot told me!" 
 
 "But " 
 
 " One thing is certain. My wife cannot be Mr 
 Hardman's heiress." 
 
 "Cannot she? And I was just thinking we 
 would drain the moat and make it healthy." 
 
 " You must write to him at once and tell him of 
 our engagement, and decline the legacy." 
 
 "I must?" 
 
 " Of course you must — that is, if you mean to 
 have anything more to do with me." 
 
 " I don't know that I do. Our point of view 
 is too different." 
 
 " Mine is the only decent point of view." 
 
 " Very likely. But I am not decent, you see." 
 
 He strode up and down, weakly and ineffec- 
 tively, twisting his fair moustache. She sat quite
 
 I40 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 still, till he stopped short in front of her and 
 delivered what he thought a poser. 
 
 " Look here, you accepted me just now — you 
 admitted that you cared for me ? " 
 
 " So I did — so I do. It is you who have gone 
 back on me." 
 
 " How, by Jove ? " 
 
 " You tell me now that you love Honour more, 
 in the words of the sentimental song." 
 
 He stared. " Well, of course a man, conven- 
 tionally speaking, at all events, loves honour more 
 than anything. What else ? " 
 
 " Do not let us conventionally speak, eh ? Let 
 us speak plainly. I will tell you that though I 
 care for you, I care for the chance of this splendid 
 succession quite as much, and I am not prepared 
 to sacrifice my ambition to my love any more 
 than you are willing to let your honour give way 
 to yours. We talk of Love, with a big L. I 
 say, what is it worth ? An overrated factor in 
 human affairs, a mere fugitive passing emotion ! 
 Set it against position, which I value, and honour, 
 which is your pose — either of these endure much 
 longer. I know myself — and I think I know you. 
 We should both of us be miserable in the end, 
 if we indulged our love at the expense of what 
 we know in our heart of hearts to be of far greater 
 importance to us ! " 
 
 " You talk of position ! Good God ! Do you 
 realise for one moment that if you allow this 
 kind, doited old man to leave all he has to you.
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 141 
 
 a beautiful, lonely woman, who is no relation to 
 him whatever, to the exclusion of all those that 
 have a better title, you will be undone — disgraced 
 for ever — your position worse than «z7, not a soul 
 would speak to you ! All Miss Bligh has hinted 
 would at once be assumed to be true. A precious 
 legacy, indeed ! The world won't allow that sort 
 of juggling with inheritances," 
 
 " The world always forgives money. We shall 
 see. I am going to take the risk. And if I am 
 deserted, I shall find some pleasant pauper to 
 marry me, I have no doubt. That's if I should 
 want to marry, which I don't. I am not what 
 is called a marrying woman. But I love you 
 — I love you. . . . ! " She reached herself a 
 cigarette. 
 
 " Don't repeat that — that fallacy ! You madden 
 me by repeating it. Yet once more — Mariuscha, 
 darling, won't you write to Mr Hardman and 
 say plainly that you will have nothing to do 
 with his money or his property, and trust 
 yourself and your future to me ? It isn't as if 
 I were a pauper — I make a fairly decent income, 
 quite enough to keep you on." 
 
 " But I am rather extravagant, dear Casimir ; 
 my washing bill, not to speak of my tobacconist's, 
 is large. And I want to be very extravagant — 
 very, very ! I love you and will marry you, but 
 I will keep Mr Hardman's money." 
 
 Livingston argued with her for a good half-hour 
 more, till I came in. He then took up his hat and
 
 142 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 went out hastily, making a good deal of noise in 
 the hall, and finally banging the door as he left. 
 Mariuscha, meanwhile, welcomed me ; she was 
 rather pale. 
 
 " I am glad you came in," she said. " You 
 saved the situation. But isn't it an odd thing 
 that an ordinary man can't take a facer of any 
 sort without throwing down all the things in the 
 umbrella-stand and not being able to find his 
 stick ? " 
 
 It was then she told me all about the facer, and 
 enabled me to reconstruct the scene. The reason 
 people tell me their affairs is, I have long since 
 discovered, because I never interrupt and never 
 ask to have obscure points elucidated. No one 
 ever tells one all, or means to do so. What I 
 said when Mariuscha had finished her laconic 
 account of her own tragedy — she considered it a 
 slight "tiff"; I saw it as a turning-point — my 
 only remark was that I did not believe she ever 
 would marry. This phrase has sometimes the 
 merit, from a match - making point of view, of 
 instigating a wild desire in the listener to falsify 
 the prediction. Mariuscha, however, took it calmly. 
 
 " Very well ! I fancy, if the truth were known, 
 a great man)- women only care to marry at all 
 for the sake of having a child of their own — a 
 girl to dress, the frivolous ones, or why do you 
 always hear them longing for it to be a girl ? 
 And after it is properly born and they feel better, 
 they don't, some of them, care if the father of it
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 143 
 
 is at the bottom of the sea. And then the 
 deserted husband gets jealous ! Look at my 
 sister Michelle ! The straight nose of Herbert 
 Langshire is quite out of joint, simply as a result 
 of his own baby's advent." 
 
 " It's an awfully nice child." 
 
 "Yes, it is, and I am fond of it. I think I'll 
 adopt it, and relieve Herbert and restore him 
 his wife. I like other women's children best ; I 
 am too lazy to have my own babies ! "
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 Margot Bligh opened the door to me herself 
 with many a mysterious recommendation to 
 silence. It was a week after my visit to 
 Mariuscha. 
 
 " How smart you are ! " I whispered. " Is some- 
 body dead ? " 
 
 " No, mother's in bed. I took her clothes away, 
 otherwise she is quite well. I told her she had 
 a chill, when I heard that Mr Hardman was 
 coming, for I wasn't going to have a repetition 
 of the Langshire fiasco." 
 
 " Is he here now, then ? " 
 
 "Yes, in the studio, 'swithering' about 
 'Crabbed Age and Youth.' Do you know, it 
 is practically the first time he has been up to 
 town since his wife's death, and Mariuscha, I'm 
 certain, is at the bottom of it! She has sent 
 for him, and passed him on here, as soon as she 
 had done with him. Mariuscha never neglects 
 a pal." 
 
 " What did i-/^^ want him for?" I mused aloud, 
 thinking over the interview I had interrupted 
 yesterday. Mariuscha had been in a white heat 
 
 144
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 145 
 
 of temper then and had acted on her impulse, 
 whatever it was. Perhaps a good impulse, an 
 honourable one, who knows? She was a creature 
 of surprises. Margot went on about her own 
 affairs : 
 
 " Don't you think it is a good plan, Carrie, to 
 leave the buyer alone with the work of art, like 
 a bridegroom left tete-h-tete with the bride that 
 is to be ? Soon he begins to feel compromised 
 and as if he was bound to buy it, having raised 
 its hopes." 
 
 "If you leave him too long he will begin to 
 see her faults," 
 
 " See she is out of drawing and so on ? Well, 
 I do rather mistrust the foreshortening of that 
 left shoulder ; I have had an unco' lot of trouble 
 with it. Perhaps we had better go in ? He will 
 like to see you, Carrie. He once said you were 
 like Flora Maclvor in WaverleyT 
 
 " Who would have thought the old man had 
 so much blood in him?" said I, as we entered 
 the studio, in as casual and digagee a style as 
 possible. Dear old Ralph Hardman turned round, 
 saluted me with old-fashioned courtesy, and asked 
 for a pen and ink. Margot, her eyes nearly 
 starting out of her head, produced a pen and 
 the silver family inkstand, an heirloom, and Mr 
 Hardman, fetching a cheque-book out of his 
 pocket, wrote out a cheque for a hundred and 
 fifty guineas. 
 
 Then Margot, having attained her immediate 
 
 K
 
 146 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 end, kindly sought to divert the stream of bene- 
 faction in my direction. 
 
 " You remember Miss Courtenay, who came 
 to Hardman Hall once with Lady Violet 
 Barnes ? " 
 
 " I remember perfectly," said he. " Violet's 
 souffre-douleur. Well, when will you come to 
 Hardman again ? " 
 
 " When next Lady Violet comes, I suppose — 
 and hope," I added, for I was touched by his 
 cordiality. 
 
 "You need not wait for my cousin," said he, 
 and added mysteriously : " Violet's time is now 
 fully occupied with another 'ploy.'" What did 
 he mean ? He was not so buried in parchments 
 as one had supposed. I stood pondering, devising 
 my explanation of my " living in " with Lady 
 Violet, and then, I suppose, some sort of telepathy 
 with Margot, who was mopping and mowing 
 beside us, prompted him to say : " Come with 
 Miss Bligh. She is coming to me in August with 
 her mother. She has her picture of my place to 
 finish. There is a lot to show you. We have 
 been knocking out the fireplaces, and laid bare 
 some splendid chimney corners big enough to 
 hold half a dozen people on either side. The 
 Early Victorian idiots had filled them up and 
 made cupboards for storing firewood. We nearly 
 had a fire there last November. When will 
 you come?" 
 
 His strange, thin, weedy, boyish voice always
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 147 
 
 gave me a peculiar sensation, as if the owner of 
 the voice was a long way off and very friendless. 
 It was a voice out of focus, as it were, the voice 
 one would be apt to attribute to a ghost. It 
 always made me feel uncomfortable, and yet I 
 liked him. 
 
 " Lady Violet is sure to bring me in August," 
 I said slowly, but he interrupted me. 
 
 " Nonsense ! you come alone, come alone. I like 
 
 girls." 
 
 Margot nudged me. "Say you will, Carrie. 
 He hardly knows what he is saying. . . ." 
 
 So I did say I would be delighted to go, some 
 time, and Margot found the hat and stick of her 
 benefactor and opened the door. Now he had 
 paid, she didn't care how soon she saw the last 
 of him. I very nearly volunteered to walk with 
 him to a cab, as he would not have one sent for, 
 but Margot again nudged me — " He may be going 
 to see Mariuscha, how do we know? and not 
 want to take you and me into his confidence ! " 
 So I desisted, and allowed her to drag me back 
 into her studio. 
 
 " Did you ever know such an old cure ? " she 
 exclaimed. " And now I come to look at it with 
 an unprejudiced eye — the ' pic' is sold, so it doesn't 
 matter what I think — I do see that shoulder is 
 fearfully out." 
 
 " Can't you set to work and get it right ? " 
 
 " Couldn't before, so can't now, without the spur 
 of making it saleable," said she sensibly. "What
 
 148 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 is sold is sold, and can't be amended ; don't you 
 think so?" 
 
 "It can't be countermanded," said I, "at any 
 rate." 
 
 " Well, Carrie, and you have done a good stroke 
 of work, too." She mimicked him. " He likes 
 girls! I should just think he did! He, he!" 
 
 " I shall never be his guest in that way, Margot,'' 
 said I seriously, " unless Lady Violet takes me 
 there ; and I think it is horrid of you to sneer, 
 because I feel sure he is not that sort of man at 
 all, and I do so hate that common way of looking 
 at things. You don't seem able to understand 
 pure, abstract, kind-heartedness " 
 
 "Platonics, eh?" 
 
 " Oh, if you talk about platonics, I'm done." 
 
 " Platonics and Mariuscha ! " mused the terrible 
 Margot. " They don't seem to go together. And 
 Mariuscha had to pay her footing, you may be 
 quite certain, even if it was ever such a little one. 
 I say, Carrie, would you let an old man like that 
 kiss you for the sake of " 
 
 " If he was old enough, I would," I said cynically. 
 
 " He is quite old enough," mused Margot, " I 
 often thought of it when I was down there, and 
 wondered if I possibly could if he offered to. He 
 is certainly not repulsive, but — still ! I do think 
 it was very clever of me to sell him a ' pic' with- 
 out anything of that kind being mentioned." 
 
 " Men don't generally mention it when they are 
 going to kiss a girl. They just do it."
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 149 
 
 " Don't you talk as if you had such acres of 
 experience, Carrie. You are far too prim for 
 anything of that kind ever to come your way. 
 You are getting much prettier, though, I wonder 
 why? I should like to make a sketch of you, I 
 really should. For nothing, of course." 
 
 " Companions don't have time to sit for their 
 likenesses, bless you." 
 
 " No ; and I suppose there is no chance of your 
 ever being anything else." 
 
 " Not the slightest," I said, as she opened the 
 door to let me out, and I suddenly found myself 
 face to face with Colonel Lisbon, who had just 
 rung the bell for admittance. 
 
 " All the Hardman Hall party will soon meet on 
 my humble doorstep," said Margot, adding, tactless 
 as usual : " Come, Carrie, change your mind and 
 come in again." 
 
 Imagine my doing such a thing ! I primmed 
 my mouth and murmured : " I should like to, but 
 you know I have an appointment. Give my love 
 to your mother, Margot, and I hope next time 
 I come, she will be well enough to see me. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 That was the way it had to be. Of course 
 Margot had not the slightest idea of how I was 
 tearing myself up by the roots, I was very cross, 
 but, after all, it was my own fault. I had refused 
 to go out with him last night, and there was 
 no reason why he should not call upon; Miss Bligh. 
 He often did so, it appeared. He asked me
 
 I50 A WORKADAY WOiMAN 
 
 politely how Lady Violet was to-day, and I 
 replied ingenuously, while Margot stood by, laugh- 
 ing derisively at the account of Lady Violet's 
 symptoms. She had scant reverence for my old 
 woman of the sea, as she called her. As I walked 
 along to the 'bus, I envied Margot her freedom 
 to abuse potential bread and butter, and her very 
 slight talent, which, however, was sufficient to 
 procure her that freedom. For, beyond con- 
 tributing to the expenses of the house, she was 
 known to do nothing for her old woman of the 
 sea, a much more pleasant old woman than mine. 
 
 My depression got into my legs as I ploughed 
 wearily up Jehane's staircase, and knocked at her 
 door, which badly needed repainting. It was 
 opened to me by a cheerful, debonair, and smiling 
 Desdemona. I had never seen any one so changed, 
 and I said so, knowing well that personal dis- 
 cussion was what pleased her most. 
 
 " Yes, I am grown hard — hard ! " she said 
 complacently, tapping the bright bow she wore 
 on her breast. " It's the only way." 
 
 She led me into the sitting-room where tea was 
 spread, a bountiful, tidy, organised tea, neatly cut 
 bread and butter, a Buzzard cake — the half-crown 
 size — reposing on the famous Spode dish on a 
 really clean table-cloth, and in the neighbourhood 
 of spoons that very nearly shone. There was a 
 kettle singing, positively singing, for joy of earth 
 and cleanliness, on the hob, and two solid, well- 
 stuffed cane chairs drawn up by the fire.
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 151 
 
 " The love-birds are not in yet," said she. " You 
 are a little before your time." 
 
 " You and Jehane seem to have changed parts," 
 said I, sitting down fearlessly in one of these 
 obviously quite reliable chairs. 
 
 " I daresay. All I know is, we get proper teas, 
 and are thoroughly cleaned and tidied up, just 
 because the great Jehane has left off utterly 
 despising and hating men, as I do now. I say, 
 I've begun a novel. I am getting on beautifully 
 with it. Soon, I shan't need to care for any 
 Perry that ever was born ; in fact, Perry has been 
 rather useful to me in my career than not. Mean- 
 time, Jehane has got my leavings, and welcome, 
 and we two live on the fat of the land — all because 
 of a man ! " 
 
 " You do seem to hate and despise them." 
 
 "Yes, don't I!" said she, beaming with prida 
 " I flatter myself I have let your brother see it ! " 
 
 " Oh yes. Perry will see anything you want him 
 to. And have he and Jehane really and truly 
 fixed it up? It will be his ninth — or is it his 
 tenth ? " 
 
 " I don't know if it will be his ninety-ninth, 
 nor do I care," she replied in accents of such truth 
 and temper that I exclaimed : 
 
 " I believe you are really cured of Perry." 
 
 "Yes, completely. And Jehane has got him 
 badly ! Much good may he do her. He has done 
 me a better turn than he knows. Here they come, 
 Carrie ; if I get engaged ninety-nine times, and
 
 152 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 live to be a hundred, I am never, never going to 
 make such a fool of myself as you will see them 
 doing. I am aching for my tea, aren't you ? See 
 this gorgeous cake Perry gave Jehane!" she con- 
 tinued, picking a comfit off the top of it with 
 manicured fingers and contemptuous air. 
 
 Jehane rustled in. I had never heard her rustle 
 before. She had got a new frock on. Perry had a 
 new tie. He didn't look shy at all, but sat down 
 like a caliph, and made himself very pleasant. He 
 really is charming, though I began to suspect that 
 Desdemona was not nearly so cured as I had 
 thought. She behaved herself, however, and the 
 whole thing went on wheels. Between us, we 
 nearly finished the Buzzard cake and the packet 
 of preserved cherries which Perry had brought for 
 Desdemona. For Jehane he produced a box of 
 cigarettes. It was quite Eastern. 
 
 When I rose to go. Perry perfunctorily volunteered 
 to accompany me. I did not want him in the least, 
 and promised myself that I would receive his 
 brotherly confidences, if he had any to make, on 
 the way down, and return him to his fair ones. 
 
 In pursuance of this plan — " Now then. Perry, 
 you run back," I said, as we reached the foot of 
 the stairs, getting a good hold of my skirt, and 
 preparing to issue into the street. 
 
 " No, no, dear old girl ; I am determined to see 
 you home. I am going to — unless you have got 
 some other fellow waiting for you round the 
 corner?"
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 153 
 
 " Don't be a goose, dear. Who is likely to wait 
 for me round the corner, or anywhere else ? You 
 know I am used to being alone. I don't want you 
 to neglect Jehane — or Desdemona, I don't know 
 which of them has the most claim on you for the 
 present moment — for me. But a word in your 
 ear : you can't marry both of them, you know," 
 
 " I don't want to marry either," said Perry, " so 
 far as I see. Look here, Carrie, I intend to come 
 with you. It isn't decent for you to be going 
 about alone." 
 
 As he spoke he glanced beyond me up the street, 
 and put his head in again suddenly. 
 
 " On second thoughts, Carrie, darling, I suppose 
 I had better not make either Desdy or Jehane 
 mad. I have got them so nice and pacified. I 
 like the two of them together, it shows off the 
 pattern of the workaday woman finely. So, 
 since you are so pressing in your refusal, I will 
 take you at your word, and let you trot home all 
 alone." 
 
 " I'm all right, you know." 
 
 " Oh yes ; you will be quite all right," said he 
 with conviction, and a funny little smile. 
 
 " Of course I shall be all right. Haven't I done 
 it hundreds of times before?" 
 
 " Oh, I say, Carrie, you shouldn't admit that. 
 Fie, fie ! Well, adieu, and God bless you, and all 
 your machinations." 
 
 He turned and ran back upstairs like lightning, 
 while I went blithely out into the street to find
 
 154 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 Colonel Lisbon waiting for me, I was very cross, 
 because he had made me ridiculous in my brother's 
 eyes, and given him a weapon of perennial chaff 
 against me. And the first question I asked him 
 was how he had tracked me. 
 
 " Tracked is a word disagreeably suggestive of a 
 police officer," said my lover, "or a mole-catcher, 
 though there ! Well, I asked the address of this 
 little brown mole of her friend Margot Bligh, and 
 I got it without much ado. You had told her you 
 were off to Hardicanute Mansions. Did you go 
 to see this famous Mariuscha ? " 
 
 " No, I didn't. And why is Mariuscha famous?" 
 
 " Margot Bligh says she fancies that old Ralph 
 Hardman has left her his place and all the 
 money." 
 
 " Margot Bligh had better hold her tongue, and 
 not go spreading silly gossip about other people. 
 Mary Lancaster, though I don't like her, is quite 
 straight." 
 
 " But it isn't particularly crooked to contrive to 
 fascinate a rich old gentleman who doesn't know 
 what on earth to do with his money, and divert it 
 into her own channel away from a set of greedy 
 fortune-hunters, who have no more right to it than 
 she has. He is only a self-made man after all, and 
 has no children " 
 
 " Kindred first," said L " He has a sort of 
 relation " 
 
 " You mean that wretched anaemic - looking 
 clergyman and his daughter, and the water-
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 155 
 
 brained lad I thrashed? Oh, their chance is as 
 ghostly as themselves. I must say, I thought 
 he liked young Livingston when I was down 
 there." 
 
 " Only because young Livingston was the only 
 one who did not care twopence about his wretched 
 money." 
 
 " Quite the most ingratiating pose of all ! " 
 answered Colonel Lisbon, sneering. " I wish I 
 had tried it myself." 
 
 " You ! " 
 
 " My dear, you are yourself implying that I am 
 like the others. I took you as you meant. You 
 lumped us altogether in your condemnation. Well, 
 I won't attempt to throw dust in your shrewd 
 eyes. I tell you, I should be exceedingly glad if 
 old Ralph had seen fit to cast the handkerchief 
 in my direction. I want money. I must have 
 money before I can marry you. The love of 
 money is coupled in my mind with the more 
 honourable emotion of love for you. They are 
 interdependent. Come, child, realise it. Look 
 facts in the face. Be business-like. Please not to 
 consider me a vulgar adventurer because I know 
 what I want, and do my best to get it." 
 
 " You had better go and make yourself agree- 
 able to Mariuscha, then," said I, " if you really 
 think she is Mr Hardman's heir." 
 
 " I hear that young Livingston is doing that. 
 It is Margot Bligh who tells me all these little 
 facts."
 
 156 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " Is that why you go and see Margot so much ? 
 To glean information about a poor, rich old man, 
 whom, between you all, you will not allow to end 
 his days in peace." 
 
 " Now, now, Carrie, who spoke of murdering 
 him ? They can all do what they like, but I 
 never even see him now. He has dropped me, 
 and I him." 
 
 " When you find it is no go." 
 
 " Exactly, you vulgar little thing. Oh, I wish 
 it would get dark ! Confound these long light 
 spring evenings. If it was only dark, I might 
 kiss you in a doorway." 
 
 " I am very glad you cannot," I said, gently, 
 for I could not be forcible about an untruth. 
 
 " Tell me, Carrie, are you just a little jealous 
 of Miss BHgh and Lady Violet?" 
 
 " Of Lady Violet ? Why should I be jealous 
 of her?" 
 
 " Well, you see, she is very usually civil to me. 
 I find it somewhat oppressive, between ourselves. 
 She has written to-day to ask me to lunch, and 
 then take her to a matinee. Bore, but it gives 
 me a chance of seeing you." 
 
 " I should not have the money for a seat spent 
 on me. I shan't be there. When does she ask 
 you to take her ? " 
 
 " Next Saturday, naturally — day for matinees. 
 Then she speaks of getting me an invitation to 
 stay with her sister-in-law, Mrs What's-her-name 
 — this August."
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 157 
 
 " Oh yes, at Frome. We often go there for 
 a fortnight in August." 
 
 " That's all right, then. We shall meet. I shall 
 accept. Are you glad ? " 
 
 " Very." 
 
 It was a lie again. I was strangely, unaccount- 
 ably not glad. I did not feel as if I should get 
 any happiness out of the fact of our being fellow- 
 guests — in my present position, at any rate, that 
 is to say. 
 
 " It's an awful world," I said. 
 
 James pressed the hand that was on his arm. 
 We were in Kensington Gardens. 
 
 " What an arrant pessimist you are ! " said he. 
 " Now I am an optimist. I am not very good, 
 so do you by any chance believe that I shall be 
 damned eternally? Is not that your austere 
 Calvinistic creed } You cannot possibly call me 
 one of the elect } " 
 
 " I don't like allusions to Scripture," said I, " and 
 you know I am not a Calvinist. Oh, James, I 
 wonder if you love me ? " 
 
 " Carrie, you are funny ! You have actually 
 stopped standing still to think about it, in the 
 very middle of the Broad Walk. You are a very 
 strange woman, and I do love you — I do with 
 all my heart and soul. I love nobody but you, 
 and I shall never change. But, Carrie, I am not 
 a sentimentalist, and if you will persist in trying 
 to assess me by romantic standards, I warn you 
 that you will find me wanting."
 
 158 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " I wish you would not be so mysterious," I said ; 
 " it worries me. Well, let us walk on. We have 
 exhausted that subject." 
 
 " I won't consent to drop it until you tell me 
 that you believe me when I say that I love 
 you." 
 
 " When you look at me like that, I do." 
 
 " How difficult it is to get things out of you ! 
 However, I will try to keep on looking like that — 
 whatever it is," he said, in a low voice that sounded 
 sincere. There was no more to be said. We 
 walked on. I was aware that he looked at me 
 now and then curiously. I was shy of him. I 
 think he did really love me then, while meditating 
 and shaping possibly courses of which I should 
 disapprove. I write this in view of what happened 
 afterwards. He left me at Lady Violet's door, or 
 rather near it, at half-past seven. 
 
 Lady Violet was taciturn all through supper. 
 She hardly said a word to me, but upstairs in the 
 drawing-room, as I was getting out the bezique 
 box, and asked if I had anywhere to go for a 
 holiday engagement. 
 
 I was so terribly surprised that I absently put 
 the box back again on the shelf, while she stared 
 at me, and, I fancy, rather enjoyed my distraction. 
 She continued, turning her head a little away from 
 me : 
 
 " Because I am invited to go a yachting expedi- 
 tion on Lord Lyminge's yacht, and he does not 
 suggest my bringing any one with me."
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 159 
 
 " Not a maid ? " said I ; " and I thought you 
 hated the sea." 
 
 " Staples will do, I think. She will enjoy the 
 fresh breezes, and so shall I. Yes, I shall take 
 Staples, who has been very faithful. It will be 
 for August and September, Now, Carrie, what 
 can you do ? " 
 
 " I shall accept an invitation that I have just 
 received." 
 
 " To whom, may I ask ? " 
 
 " To Mr Ralph Hardman's." 
 
 " Ralph has asked you ? " 
 
 " Yes, Lady Violet, for an indefinite visit. Have 
 you any objection to my going ? " 
 
 " Not the slightest," said she, with her mouth 
 awry. " But you needn't Lady Violet me when 
 there is no one else in the room." 
 
 She did not withdraw her permission to me to 
 leave her as I had expected, and hoped. She 
 nervously worked her throat and swallowed — a 
 certain amount of dudgeon, so I thought, but she 
 only said quietly : 
 
 " You will join Ralph's harem of girls. I am 
 told he sees nothing else nowadays. Scarcely 
 respectable, but you are old enough to look after 
 yourself Well, you shall go ; I daresay you will 
 find some way — some decent way — of making 
 yourself useful to him. I will continue to pay 
 you your salary, and washing, and your fares, 
 and anything extra you may have to disburse. 
 Now get the cards."
 
 i6o A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 I thanked her. She was a lady after all, and 
 was treating me very decently. Only — why was 
 she prepared to spend any money to get rid of 
 me? Why did she prefer the ministrations of 
 Staples to mine? Staples was singularly plain.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 There were only two guests staying at Hardman 
 Hall, Margot Bligh and Margot Bligh's mother, 
 who lived mostly in her own room and enjoyed 
 every comfort and luxury. Dear old thing ! but 
 she never knew who was speaking to her, or what 
 you said. Ralph Hardman had not exchanged 
 two words with her in his life, but he would have 
 taken in a wilderness of old women if he could 
 have found rooms for them all. Mrs Mason had 
 gone : Margot had edged her out a long time 
 ago, and the butler, Martin. Only women need 
 apply now. Four trim and efficient parlour-maids 
 flaunted their fresh white cap-ribbons and starched 
 print skirts in all the corridors. Mr Hardman's 
 new fad ! Even the gardeners slept out of the 
 house. The hands of these houris were most 
 carefully attended, and they had all of them a 
 graceful, pleasing address, and were assiduous 
 over changing plates. 
 
 They were all equal ; nobody had a right to 
 dictate to them, and the wonder was the work 
 got done at all, and so decently, considering. To 
 be a bachelor's parlour-maid is, however, a great 
 
 i6i L
 
 i62 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 draw, and I soon found out the reason why they 
 nursed his regard so tenderly. They were all 
 pretty, and knew it. The cook was fat, and an 
 excellent cook, and so long as her own kitchen- 
 maid obeyed her, did not supervise them in the 
 least. We jogged along very comfortably, and 
 Margot's portrait of Hardman Hall, like the web 
 of Penelope, made very small progress. It repre- 
 sented the title-deeds of her stay here, and, more- 
 over, she had got interested in something else. 
 She wanted to paint a scene from French history, 
 between Madame du Deffand and Mademoiselle 
 de Lespinasse. Mrs Bligh posed for the blind 
 old patroness, but Margot was at her wits' end to 
 find a model for her wayward companion. I was 
 willing, but there was nothing like Mademoiselle de 
 Lespinasse about me, except my condition ; I said 
 that I had always imagined the lady in question 
 to be rather like Desdemona Cresswell. 
 
 " Now you say so, Carrie, there is a likeness. 
 She has a blanched, fundamentally poor-spirited 
 appearance. She must always have looked old- 
 passee from her cradle. Those light, string- 
 coloured women don't wear a bit ! And lately 
 she has taken to making bitter speeches. Has 
 your brother been jilting her?" 
 
 " I don't know why you should think so." 
 " Whenever a woman takes to saying disagree- 
 able things about matters that are perfectly in- 
 different to her, it is safe to conclude that she is 
 thinking of Him ! "
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 163 
 
 It was so: Desdemona and my brother had "had 
 a final row," as Perry put it, had " fundamentally 
 differed," to quote Desdemona, but I preferred to 
 stand up for my brother ; I said : 
 
 " Call it jilting, if you like. All Desdemona's 
 men do jilt, or she says they do. She attracts 
 bad behaviour as woollen attracts moth, or a 
 looking-glass attracts women ! " 
 
 "Just like poor Lespinasse. We'll have old 
 Desdemona down and temper the wind to the 
 jilted lamb, and get me a good model as well." 
 
 " But dare you ask visitors to Mr Hardman's 
 house ? " 
 
 " Dare — yes. I dare do anything that becomes 
 a real artist, and the selection of models is half the 
 battle. I'll settle Papa Hardman — square him. 
 I have been here, off and on, now for about a year, 
 and got my hand on all the levers." 
 
 She did square Mr Hardman ; and Desdemona 
 came down, more flaxen, more washed-out than 
 ever, but graceful, and interesting as became a 
 lady whom one of the minor papers, describing 
 her appearance at a bazaar, had been known to 
 characterise as " the fair, frail Miss Cresswell." 
 
 As soon as we were alone — " How do, Carrie ? " 
 said my brother's Ariadne, languidly. " I suppose 
 I ought to feel hardly able to be civil to you?" 
 
 "Because I happen to be Perry's sister?" 
 
 " Oh, don't speak of Perry. When is he going 
 to marry Miss Bruce?" 
 
 " Never, I should think."
 
 i64 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 A pale gleam of enjoyable contempt lighted 
 poor Desdemona's worn face. She murmured : 
 " Poor girl ! She isn't really a bad sort. We both 
 got into bad hands, old Jehane and I. Nay, I 
 don't hate her. He had the decency not to give 
 her as a reason for jilting me." 
 
 " Do you mean you were so old-fashioned as to 
 ask him for his reasons ? Oh, you will never make 
 a novelist, if you disdain the rudiments like that." 
 
 " Don't be too sure ! " Desdemona looked arch, 
 and went on reflectively : "It was a very queer, 
 perverse sort of scene. I don't know if you know 
 what I mean, but he was the woman and I the 
 man, all through — a strange reversal of parts, 
 isn't it ? He said in a cowed, apologetic way, ' I 
 suppose you think me perfectly detestable?' And 
 I said, con amove, ' I loathe you, Perry ! ' and then 
 he laughed — laughed ! A man's way, belittling 
 one's poor tragedy ! " 
 
 "Just now you said he was the woman ! " 
 
 " Don't take me up so, Carrie. I can't bear it, 
 while my nerves are unstrung as they are now. If 
 you will have it, he behaved like neither man nor 
 woman, but like Perry Courtenay. Imagine a 
 man's telling a woman to her face he had found he 
 didn't love her enough to marry her — for at last 
 I did worm a reason out of him. He might surely 
 have invented an excuse which would have saved 
 my woman's pride." 
 
 " What is a better excuse ? Another woman ? " 
 
 " Yes, but that would be too commonplace for
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 165 
 
 dear Peny. He wants to do everything differently 
 to every one else. I see through him now. I 
 always did. The glamour has gone off the 
 gingerbread " 
 
 " Gilt, dear." 
 
 " I always felt," proceeded Desdemona, " rather 
 than knew, that man through and through. He 
 isn't so odd or original as he makes himself out. 
 Not half so like Gringoire and Verlaine. I could 
 expose him — and I have." 
 
 These, and kindred dark sayings were clear as 
 noonday to both Margot and myself, but we 
 enjoyed teasing her by markedly refraining from 
 the questions so obviously angled for. She sent 
 up to town for reams of paper, and was most 
 particular about the writing-table in her room. 
 After about a fortnight or so of mincing secrecy 
 we decided to give her a chance of unburdening 
 her mind. The question of my relationship was 
 conveniently stowed. I did not defend my brother. 
 Perry, being a ladies' man, must run his chance, 
 and if he jilts a cat, must expect it to scratch him 
 feebly. Feebly was the word. Desdemona, in 
 spite of all her sex virulence and artistic im- 
 morality, could not possibly write what she loved 
 to speak of as a " strong book." Her production 
 must necessarily be a Chinese tea and straw- 
 coloured satire, like her hair. To our mildly 
 eager questionings she replied : 
 
 "Well, you know, girls, though I am reputedly 
 a journalist, I have always wanted and intended
 
 i66 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 to write a work de longue haleine, but, so far, 
 I have never had time. Now, thanks to Mr 
 Perronet Courtenay, of whose influence on my 
 career you both are aware, I have all the rest 
 of my life to do it in. Art rushes in, where love 
 goes out. We rise, on stepping-stones of our 
 dead loves — to a higher class of work. I finished 
 it here, one morning, in this delicious old-world 
 garden, while the birds were singing and the 
 drowsy mower's scythe " 
 
 "Stop!" said I. "I shall look forward to read- 
 ing all that in the novel. What I want to know 
 is this, what have you put my poor brother in 
 as?" 
 
 " Ah, Perry fell quite naturally into the part of 
 villain. I believe I have succeeded in making him 
 extremely telling. When one writes with one's 
 heart on one's sleeve, you know " 
 
 "Or in the inkpot?" 
 
 " He loves and he rides away several times — 
 quite in character," continued the deserted novelist. 
 " He comes, of course, to a bad end — breaks his 
 neck, I think ; but really, I forget how I engineered 
 that. If your brother, Carrie, should ever happen 
 to read it " 
 
 " As you hope and intend that he shall ! " 
 
 " He will certainly come back from his riding, 
 and — talk of breaking necks — he will be apt to 
 want to wring mine ! " 
 
 " Good, dear Desdemona ! Put that epigram 
 into the novel."
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 167 
 
 " I don't see how I can get it in," said Desde- 
 mona, who had only a feeble and new-born sense 
 of humour, inculcated during the course of her 
 engagement to Perry, who had taken her in 
 hand and done wonders in the short time he had 
 allowed himself. " Carrie, darling, will you take 
 it to a publisher's for me ? So finely ironical a 
 touch, that his sister should bear it to the altar 
 of publication ! Will you ? It is tied up all 
 ready, now, in brown paper." 
 
 " With a pink ribbon, I daresay ? " 
 
 " No. Blue." 
 
 "That is quite naive and wrong, dear. Take 
 my advice — throw it in the fire ! " 
 
 " I couldn't," she shrieked, flinging up her hands. 
 " I should as soon think of strangling a new-born 
 babe ! I have laid it aside for a time — locked it 
 in a cupboard in my room. And now I feel as if 
 that cupboard contained a Frankenstein monster 
 that might come out any minute and strangle me. 
 It is very strong, Carrie, this child of my brain. 
 It seems to batter at the door sometimes, and 
 cry, * Let me out ! let me out ! I am a work of 
 art ! ' I have so much imagination. It seems to 
 me that it grows in that cupboard. It waxes fat, 
 and kicks, while I — look what a shadow I grow ! 
 My friend, let me lean on you. We must be going 
 in ; it is getting cold, and the first bell has gone 
 for dinner."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 We dressed, we tried to make a good show of 
 grateful, lively — and so far as Desdemona and I 
 were concerned — deprecating womanhood, when 
 at the stroke of the second gong we all converged 
 on the little oak-panelled lobby near the drawing- 
 room. In the misty, mediaeval effect of half a 
 dozen wax candles or so, our scanty breadths of 
 cheap cotton waste and art muslin could be 
 relied on to give the shimmering effect which was 
 enough to please the old gentleman's inexpert eyes, 
 Desdemona in her faded prettiness always looked 
 a little marquise - like and French - miniaturish. 
 Margot always got herself up like a Botticelli boy- 
 angel, while my own highest level, that of a Scotch 
 lassie — the old gentleman often called me Flora 
 Maclvor, after the pale Jacobite of Waverley — 
 was best attained by the wearing of dead white, or 
 so I fancied. He always smiled and rose, with 
 exquisite courtesy, when, having mustered in the 
 lobby aforesaid, we elected a forewoman, and 
 entered the drawing-room, to find him, his good, 
 ugly, round Cromwellian face set in rigid black in 
 our honour, rising from his armchair and flinging 
 
 i6S
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 169 
 
 away the Times with a noble gesture. He took 
 us in to dinner each in turn ; we presented ourselves 
 in the proper order every night, though Margot 
 always assumed the head of the table. 
 
 " I undertake it," said she, " because I am the 
 practical one, and know how to manage him best. 
 Not with any view to ' coming ' it over either of 
 you or getting a mean advantage ; I know well 
 enough that that is no good, neither I nor any of 
 us need ever hope to cut out Mariuscha. I call 
 her the Lady of Shalott. This is Shalott. Moaty, 
 mystic place ! — damp, too ! Do you know, the 
 other day, when the old magician was just dozing 
 off, he muttered her name ? " 
 
 " Poor old dear ! " said soft-hearted Desdemona. 
 " He is dying to see her, perhaps. It seems rather 
 hard on him and cruel, when zve are all here, and 
 nobody says anything." 
 
 " Ah, but that's just the way the world is. 
 Nobody troubles to make a scandal or forbid him 
 the girls he doesnt want. Besides, Mariuscha 
 wouldn't come. She had her plan of campaign. 
 And it's pretty dull here, you know, unless you're 
 busy. I hate a house without a man-servant, and 
 all the dusting those girls do is with their cap- 
 ribbons and streamers. Still, I, personally, would 
 stand a lot of solid boredom to get champagne 
 every night, and such dry champagne, too ! He 
 doesn't seem to mind wasting it on girls without 
 palates. Men, at least, say we haven't any. I 
 sometimes laugh to myself, Carrie, when I think
 
 I70 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 how we girls have ousted the men — the men who 
 would give their eyes to come down here and do 
 themselves well. It would just suit them, lazy 
 brutes ! and we do very well without them, though 
 I don't see why we shouldn't be able to have down 
 some of our own ' boys,' just to amuse us. Who 
 would you have, Carrie? I could do with the 
 beautiful buccaneer." 
 
 " Whom do you mean ? " 
 
 "Lisbon, of course; doesn't he always strike you 
 as an adventurer, a cattle-lifter, a pirate of sorts, 
 with his hungry eye and lithe frame ? I don't 
 believe he could keep his hands off some of the 
 precious things lying about here " 
 
 " Margot ! " 
 
 " You needn't defend him, Carrie, anyway. 
 What is he to you, because you happen to live 
 in the house with him ? " 
 
 " I don't. He dines occasionally." 
 
 " He's the tame cat, isn't he ? Buccaneering a 
 bit, I expect. By the way, I caught a glimpse of 
 his handwriting on the hall table the other day — 
 Mr Hardman came slippering along before I could 
 see who it was addressed to. Himself, of course. 
 Perhaps it has come into his head to ask the man 
 down here ? I wish I could suggest it. Shall I ? " 
 
 " I daresay you have got the cheek." 
 
 " I have got the cheek to ask for anything that 
 I am in the least likely to get by asking. I never 
 waste my eloquence. I'll think about it. Or why 
 could not you? Your voice won't tremble. An
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 171 
 
 uninterested person always is the most successful 
 petitioner, I have noticed." 
 
 " Oh, do your own dirty work," I answered 
 crossly. " How do you know / don't want him to 
 come, too ? " 
 
 The letters, only two of them, that Margot had 
 spied on the hall table were for me, and I took 
 no pleasure in them, although I could not have 
 explained to any one why and in what they 
 failed. 
 
 Those who love have a sixth sense which makes 
 them better detectives than any who draw His 
 Majesty's pay at Scotland Yard. 
 
 As love-letters, James's missives were unsatis- 
 factory, although the terms used therein would 
 have been absolutely efficacious as evidence in a 
 case for breach of promise ; unless, indeed, the 
 handwriting being somewhat illegible, counsel 
 might wrangle over the exact interpretation to 
 put on the spidery scrawls that stood for binding 
 expressions of attachment. Perhaps the canny 
 writer had thought of that contingency ? 
 
 I should not have thought of that myself a few 
 months ago: my character was deteriorating under 
 the strain of my life under Lady Violet's roof. 
 And, as a matter of fact, the terms of our engage- 
 ment left James in perfect freedom to jilt me if 
 he should cease to care for me. I had not exacted 
 fidelity, and he trusted me, and even if he intended 
 to fail me, would have been sure to take me 
 at my word, and write freely and fearlessly. The
 
 172 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 measure of a man's respect for a woman is also 
 the measure of her endurance and capacity for 
 suffering ; he is apt to draw the more heavily 
 on it. 
 
 Lady Violet wrote, also, once, to bid me go up 
 to town and find and despatch her sable stole. 
 She wanted it, " for it was beginning to draw in 
 very cold in the evenings." She volunteered this 
 information to fill up the page, and the innocent 
 remark filled me with blind rage. Why did she 
 not stay decently below, as her age and infirmities 
 warranted, during those hours sacred and tolerable 
 only to juveniles ? Ridiculous for an old, suffering, 
 toddling woman to go up on deck after dinner and 
 hang over taffrails like the heroine of a novel with 
 the man of her heart — James, probably, who had 
 got her her invitation on to his brother's yacht, and 
 would naturally be deputed to beau her about and 
 take all the trouble of her. 
 
 I laughed a grim laugh to myself, as I raised 
 my glass of frothy champagne to my lips and 
 wondered in what rough, classical, racy words old 
 Ralph Hard man's dry humour would clothe his 
 opinion of his relations' goings on. 
 
 I always carried James's two letters, such as 
 they were, about with me, and read them under the 
 table at dinner. The table was so large that each 
 of us had a whole side to herself, and could have 
 conned a lexicon without being observed if so 
 minded. One page of the second letter was chock- 
 full of Lady Violet's symptoms, which it irked me
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 173 
 
 that James should discuss so seriously, but which 
 I now knew nearly by heart, /aute de mieiix. 
 
 He said that he thought I ought to force my 
 patroness to consult a specialist, as soon as she 
 returned to town. He owned that he did not put 
 much faith in Dr Jenkins, with whom, however, he 
 seemed to be on the best of terms. Lady Violet 
 had then so far set her personal vanity aside as 
 to allude to some very intimate details of her 
 health to a man ; he retailed them to me in a 
 love-letter ? Faugh ! 
 
 I gave the letter a vixenish crumple in my hand 
 and slipped it into my pocket — I always have a 
 pocket, the other girls chaff me about it, and say 
 that I am too old-fashioned ever to marry ; prob- 
 ably they are right. Then I took a large helping 
 of patt^ de foie gras, and began to talk feverishly. 
 The others slackened off. It was a tacit con- 
 vention between us that we were to amuse the 
 kind old host ; keep the ball of conversation 
 a-rolling, and take each our part in listening to 
 him assiduously. It was all he asked. He was 
 thoroughly happy. About half-way through 
 dinner he would lay down his knife and fork, 
 tilt up his spectacles and have a good look at 
 us all, and then murmur : " Three nice girls ! I 
 like to see their pleasant faces. I hope, ladies, 
 you will all stay as long as you please — it will 
 please me ! " 
 
 " That's all he wants ! " said Margot to me after 
 dinner, when The Ladies had left The gentleman
 
 174 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 to his wine. "Just to be cock of the walk. But to 
 suggest introducing another man ! Pooh, I daren't 
 do it ; it would break the whole thing up, like 
 Beauty and the Beast when Beauty wanted to 
 bring her relations along, and Psyche, too. No, 
 no. Let's stay like this as long as we can ; eh, 
 girls ? " 
 
 " I shall have to go back to my old woman 
 some time," said I. 
 
 "Then we'll get Jehane down." 
 
 " I doubt if we can get Jehane," said Desdemona ; 
 " she is too independent. She prefers eating grass^ 
 and hates kow-towing to the rich." 
 
 " Neither would the rich like the sight of her at 
 his board," said Margot. "Think of Jehane under 
 all those Venetian girandoles, and in front of that 
 rock crystal epergne thing, and reflected in all those 
 mirrors ! Oh no, she's far too untidy — and he's 
 so very particular about certain things. Have 
 you noticed the nails of the maids here ? All mani- 
 cured. And they are all left something in his 
 will, if they are still in his service when he dies. 
 Naturally, they never want to leave. Do you think 
 he's very well to-night ? Seems to me he's caught 
 a little chill " 
 
 " Make up the fire," said Desdemona, " and 
 ring for some hot grog. Let's keep him warm and 
 cheerful." 
 
 " I have often wondered what we'd do — in a 
 certain case ! " cogitated Margot. " You see, I 
 have an imagination. The gardeners sleep out.
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 175 
 
 Dr Ferrars lives nearly a mile off; we keep no 
 horses — no conveyance or trap of any sort, and 
 the nearest neighbour is five miles away, and not 
 friends with him, either. All the country-side cut 
 him about Mariuscha, I believe." 
 
 " That was Mason's doing," said I. " She made 
 the worst of it. I am glad she was sent away." 
 
 " We should jolly well not be here if she was still 
 in possession," replied Margot. " Well, well, / 
 have no interest in his dying just yet, but it's 
 funny not to know even who his executors are." 
 
 She concluded this execrable speech just as 
 our host came shuffling in. He did seem rather 
 seedy, I thought, now that I looked at him, but 
 he sat down in his armchair and asked Desdemona 
 to play to him. She departed up into the musician's 
 gallery, where the piano was placed, and soon the 
 notes of some of Chopin's more agonising pieces 
 stole down to us, and a little of the grimness of 
 Ralph Hardman's face was eliminated from it. 
 Desdemona played very well. 
 
 " I wish I had my music here," she wailed 
 presently. 
 
 Mr Hardman answered, unexpectedly : " You 
 will find plenty in a chest up there — or ought to 
 be. My wife's music. . . . Mariuscha put it all 
 in order " 
 
 " Could my friend Mariuscha Lancaster play, 
 Mr Hardman ? " Margot asked insinuatingly. 
 
 " Mariuscha ? — no, but Mrs Hardman could. The 
 best wife ever man had -"
 
 176 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " Now he's launched ! " whispered Margot ; " and 
 jolly badly he treated that best wife, if the truth 
 were known. I'll see if I can get anything out 
 
 of him " She raised her voice. " Mariuscha 
 
 always said that Mrs Hardman was so awfully 
 good to her? (That's a lie, by the way.)" 
 
 " My wife was kind to everybody. She knew 
 my liking for girls " 
 
 " He ! he ! " giggled Margot, then aloud : " How 
 nice of her to be so understanding ! Wives so 
 seldom grasp . . . and that sort of liking is so 
 often misinterpreted " 
 
 " But I was careful to explain it all to her 
 Many men in my place would have just gone their 
 own way, and ridden rough-shod over a woman's 
 feelings, but that was not my way. I knew she 
 was sensible enough to appreciate my taking her 
 feelings into account, and good-natured enough 
 to wish to indulge mine. She said to me, 
 ' Ralph ' " 
 
 " Now we are getting at it ! " observed Margot. 
 
 " ' Ralph,' my dear said to me, ' one knows what 
 ill-judged kindness to pretty girls leads to. You 
 get a certain amount of satisfaction about having 
 them always about you, but the girls get talked 
 about, and I get laughed at — if I don't get despised. 
 So the best way of solving that difficulty, it seems 
 to me, is, instead of leaving you to fight it out 
 without me, to help you to get the kind of society 
 you like without doing anybody any harm, especi- 
 ally the girls. I know I have your heart ' — she had
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 177 
 
 indeed — ' but it stands to reason that an old 
 woman cannot diffuse that atmosphere of youth 
 in the home that we both like. We will see a 
 great many girls, we will study them, and we will 
 adopt one of them — informally, so as not to 
 spoil her by expectations ' " 
 
 " And you did finally select one ? " asked Margot, 
 almost bitterly. Mariuscha was being rehabilitated 
 in the most complete and painful manner. He took 
 no notice of her remark, but just rambled on. I 
 thought it a most indecent proceeding, and longed 
 to shut Margot up. 
 
 " My wife was a most truly exceptional woman. 
 ' Ralph,' said she, ' I tell you what we will do, we 
 will take up the girl together.' She was as good 
 as her word. The young lady went about with 
 us, stayed with us in town and country ; my wife 
 never made any objection to my frequent calls 
 upon her in her home, and she came down here 
 frequently, and did some little bits of work 
 for me. . . . Then her family was ruined. ... I 
 procured a flat for her in a quiet neighbour- 
 hood " 
 
 " And Mrs Hardman went to see her there ? " 
 Margot suggested incredulously. 
 
 " She did not go very often ; she had such poor 
 health that she persuaded me to pay her calls for 
 her very largely, in the days when I did pay 
 calls." 
 
 "A dozen to his one, I bet," said Margot. 
 " What an absurdly complaisant old lady ! Still, 
 
 M
 
 178 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 I didn't know that she ever honoured her husband's 
 'mash' so far " 
 
 " Margot, I can't stand this," I exclaimed. 
 
 " Sit down, then ; though, really, Carrie, it is 
 no business of yours what I choose to say to Mr 
 Hardman. Besides, listen, he is talking away all 
 of his own accord. Aren't you a little curious ? " 
 
 " Yes," said I, " I am. Only, you are so coarse 
 in your inferences " 
 
 " I can't help it. I speak as I find. Hadn't 
 you better stay and hear fair play ? " she sneered. 
 " What is all that he is reproaching himself with ? 
 Listen ! I really do think he is very queer 
 to-night." 
 
 To Margot's ire I spoke up and addressed our 
 host. " I am afraid, Mr Hardman," I said, " that 
 this conversation is rather too painful for you. 
 Let us talk of something more cheerful — some- 
 thing to go to bed upon. Do you know, it is 
 half-past eleven ? " 
 
 " Carrie, you pig ! " muttered Margot. " That 
 clock is twenty minutes fast. Just when he was 
 getting amusing. And he isn't minding you in 
 the very least, luckily ! " 
 
 He was not. He was talking quite fast, and 
 rather loud, while Desdemona's soft playing 
 reminded me of the faint undertone of the 
 voluntary during the Creed, or like pale colours 
 run on to lace. 
 
 " I am ashamed of one thing that I did," 
 muttered the poor old man. " I gave away
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 179 
 
 what did not belong to me — I gave her my 
 wife's necklace ! " 
 
 " The emeralds ! " said Margot in an awestruck 
 whisper. 
 
 " Yes, I gave her my wife's necklace. I clasped 
 it round her neck myself — in Sophia's presence — 
 some devil possessed me — I still see my wife's 
 eyes " 
 
 " Well, this beats all ! " murmured Margot Bligh. 
 
 " I wanted Sophia to object — to give me an 
 excuse for taking it back — but she would not. 
 She bade the girl, in her queenly manner, to keep 
 it. . . ." 
 
 " And the girl kept it, you bet," said the artist. 
 
 "Shame on her!" said I, quite loudly. 
 
 " Nay ; my wife made it so easy for her. She 
 insisted on her keeping it — said it was of no 
 particular value — hoped she would wear it for 
 her sake. And the poor child believed her, she 
 thinks it is paste. ..." 
 
 " Rats ! " muttered Margot. 
 
 " I believe it of her ! " I cried. Mr Hardman 
 heard neither of us. 
 
 " But she felt it — my wife did. The incident 
 took place a couple of months before she left 
 me. I wanted the necklace back — to put in her 
 coffin " 
 
 "And Mariuscha refused to part with it?" said 
 I sadly. 
 
 " I told her what I wanted it for," said he, 
 " and she naturally enough would not hear of it."
 
 i8o A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " She knew he would have had it up again in six 
 months," said Margot. " And then you insinuate, 
 Carrie, that she didn't know the value of it ! That 
 proves she did. If it had been of no value she 
 would have been glad enough to gratify the old 
 boy's morbid fancy. Did you ever see her again 
 after that?" she asked him clearly. 
 
 " She came to me, here, after all was put away 
 — covered over, finished. But it was an odd thing, 
 I buried my liking for young girls' society in 
 my dear wife's coffin. She had encouraged me, 
 without her I did not seem to care about them." 
 
 " Rum thing to say," interposed Margot, " with 
 the house full of samples ! " 
 
 " And then in the absence of my dear wife, it 
 did not look well in the eyes of the neighbour- 
 hood ; it did not do. I found it would not work. 
 Inferior natures carped and cavilled — Sophia has 
 stood between me and that sort of thing all her 
 life — when she was dead malicious tongues were 
 loosed." 
 
 " Mason ! " murmured Margot. He heard. 
 
 "Yes — Mason, damn her!" His head fell on 
 his breast, and he said no more. He seemed 
 awfully tired. I said to Margot, crossly : 
 
 " Well, haven't you done enough poking and 
 prying for one evening? Your victim sleeps. 
 And all you have got out of him is the fact 
 that Mariuscha isn't so bad as we thought." 
 
 " Yes ; it is quite nice to know that the late 
 Mrs Hardman chaperoned Mariuscha to a certain
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN i8i 
 
 extent," retorted Margot, whom nothing could 
 ever affront or perturb. " I should think Casimir 
 Livingston might get over his objection to 
 Mariuscha's windfall — if that story is true? — 
 supposing he knew these extenuating circum- 
 stances which I have been instrumental in bring- 
 ing to light, with every possible impediment from 
 you, by the way. And that good old Desdemona 
 playing away like an angel up there ! " 
 
 " It strikes me I haven't heard her for a while," 
 said I, running upstairs into the loft. Coming 
 down again, I reported : " She's asleep, with her 
 head on the keys." 
 
 " Funny, how little interested Desdemona is in 
 the things of the moment ! " meditated Margot. 
 " Now, as a novelist, one would think she would 
 have been on the tiptoe of curiosity to hear the 
 scene we've been assisting at. Most dramatic, 
 wasn't it? Although I am an artist, I consider 
 that I have a very strong histrionic bias ; it is 
 a mere chance that I wasn't an actress or a 
 novelist. Mr Hardman has always struck me 
 as a very picturesque figure. Queer mixture of 
 paganism and puritanism his face is — have you 
 ever noticed that ? How well it comes this 
 minute ! " 
 
 " Rather sunken in, somehow," said I. " You 
 wouldn't like to paint his portrait as he looks 
 now, would you ? " 
 
 " I don't know, it is characteristic. The features 
 are sharpened and more clear - cut than usual,
 
 i82 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 don't you think ? His nose is spread more. He 
 always has that half-sly, half-childish look, he 
 must have been quite a 'cute man of business in 
 his time to get all this wealth together ; and 
 yet he is simple, and any woman can do what 
 she likes with him, from the respectable point of 
 view, I don't suppose he looks upon us as any- 
 thing but a breed of long-haired undergraduates, 
 and would grant us the Suffrage at once." 
 
 "Why do you always talk, then, as if he had 
 led Mariuscha astray ? " 
 
 '■'■ Fagon de parley !" said Margot, giving one of 
 the true apologies of all scandalmongers. " It 
 saves trouble. And, besides, I am sure it wasn't 
 Mariuscha's fault if he didn't. I do wonder, 
 really, what it is he has done for her? After 
 all, we know nothing for certain, it is only gossip. 
 Perhaps the necklace is all that Mariuscha has got 
 for her pains ? I wonder if he has left us three 
 anything } Golly, what wouldn't I give to know ? " 
 
 " I don't want anything." 
 
 " What a lie ! Well, well, we shall see some day. 
 One of us will, anyway, one who is absent. Mean- 
 time I am abominably sleepy. Why should not 
 we go to bed ? " 
 
 " We must wake him first." 
 
 " I don't see that it is our business to valet him." 
 
 " The servants are all gone to bed. We can't 
 leave him asleep in his chair all night. We ought 
 to wake him." 
 
 " Well, why don't you 1 "
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 183 
 
 I had a great objection to that job, and I tried 
 to make Margot see that it was her province, and 
 she as stoutly refused. But I agreed to go and 
 wake Desdemona and get her to do it. Once in 
 the organ-loft, it occurred to me that I would 
 ask Desdemona to play a crashing chord or two. 
 Desdemona, when she thoroughly came awake, 
 obligingly gave us several crashing alarms, but to 
 no avail, Mr Hardman slept on. 
 
 " I simply can't make any more noise than 
 that," she called down to us, " I've sat on the 
 piano." 
 
 " Can't you shake him ? " she asked languidly, 
 coming down the ladder, and joining the little 
 group of perplexed women. 
 
 " I don't like to shake my host ; it seems so 
 rude," was my lame excuse. 
 
 " Well, he doesn't look so very comfortable," 
 observed Desdemona. " See how oddly he is 
 hunched up ! " 
 
 " One of us ought to bawl in his ear," said 
 Margot, quite determined, however, not to be the 
 one to perform this operation. We all three stood 
 there looking at him ; we could not bear the idea 
 of touching the poor old thing, somehow, and, 
 instead of bawling at him, we all began to talk 
 in whispers. 
 
 " Suppose we let him alone ! " suggested Margot 
 at last. " It won't really hurt him to lie there all 
 night. It is summer, after all ! " 
 
 " Think of that cold two o'clock in the morning.
 
 i84 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 when people die easiest ! And he has a chill on 
 him, too ! No, I don't see how we can leave him," 
 I said. 
 
 " No, I don't really see how you can leave him! " 
 said Desdemona, beginning to sidle towards the 
 door of the room. Margot said nothing ; she 
 looked thoroughly frightened. I conquered my 
 reluctance, and, as a beginning, took his limp hand 
 that hung by his side. It was coldish — a queer 
 kind of coldness. . . . 
 
 " What is it, Carrie ? My dear girl, you look so 
 awfully funny ! " 
 
 " Nothing ! " said I ; " but, if you ask me, I believe 
 Mr Hardman is dead ! " 
 
 " You idiot ! " said Margot, roughly adding: " You 
 don't mean that you really think that?" She 
 looked as if she was going to run away. 
 
 " I have never seen any one dead," I answered 
 slowly, "but — ^just feel!" 
 
 " Not for worlds ! " exclaimed Margot, glaring 
 stupidly, all her debonnairness gone at once. 
 " But — he certainly looks very odd ! Oh, Carrie, 
 I am frightened ! " 
 
 *' I'm going to faint ! " piped Desdemona. 
 
 " Keep where you are, then, and do as you like," 
 said I ; " I must go and call the servants." 
 
 I made a step towards the door, but Margot 
 retained me. " I will not — I can't be left alone 
 with it," she said. 
 
 " Well, then, you go and tell them, I don't mind 
 staying."
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 185 
 
 " If I can walk," said she ; " my legs are like 
 two concertinas." 
 
 She tottered to the door, and in her nervousness 
 switched off all the lights, so that we were left in 
 complete darkness. All the sound I heard was the 
 noise of Desdemona's conventional hysterics from 
 the window-seat at the other end of the room, 
 where she had thrown herself. It seemed ages. I 
 sought and took hold of the cold hand again. I 
 felt as if we had all been so unkind to him, and 
 that to conquer my reluctance was to make him 
 some sentimental amends. I did not mind so 
 much now that the first shock was over, and the 
 growing chill of his hand proclaimed the truth of 
 our dreadful surmise. 
 
 Margot did not come back again. I waited 
 there for a good half-hour, practically alone, for 
 the noise of Desdemona was no sort of comfort to 
 me," and at the end of that time some one turned 
 on the lights and a glare smote my blinking eyes, 
 as I raised them to Dr Ferrars' face.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 " Now, what's all this ? " he asked nervously. 
 
 Desdemona chose that moment to give a wild 
 whoop, and went off into honest hysterics, to which 
 her previous efforts had been merely the preface. 
 It was disconcerting, and I suppose my eyes were 
 a little queer, for the doctor looked as if he 
 expected me to fly at him. 
 
 " Is there nobody here who has got any sense?" 
 he asked, and I answered quite gravely : " Nobody 
 but me." 
 
 " Get that screeching dolt out of the room, then," 
 he said, " and send my coachman to me — get some- 
 body to hold the horse." 
 
 I obeyed him, and having stowed Desdemona 
 safely in her own room and turned the key on her, 
 returned to find that the doctor and his man had 
 managed to lay Mr Hardman on his bed, which, 
 luckily, was on the ground floor, not far from the 
 octagon room. Ferrars came to meet me there, 
 nervously taking hold of my hand. 
 
 " Look here," he said. " He's dead, of course. 
 You were here when he died. Tell me about it." 
 
 i86
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 187 
 
 I told him. 
 
 " It's heart failure — pretty obviously," he went 
 on. " But I don't like to give a certificate. There 
 had better be an inquest. Now, who's in the 
 house?" 
 
 " Three girls and one bedridden old woman." 
 
 " Relations ? " 
 
 " None of us." 
 
 " Bless my soul ! Do you mean Who am I 
 
 to send for, then?" 
 
 " I cannot tell you." 
 
 "What a queer thing! Was he ?" He 
 
 touched his forehead. " I know nothing of him ; 
 I have never been called in before ; but I've seen 
 him about in the lanes often enough. But he must 
 have relations?" 
 
 " Yes, he has relations. My mistress, Lady 
 Violet Barnes, is his first cousin, but she is yacht- 
 ing in the Hebrides, and couldn't be got hold of. 
 Another relation. Canon Barling, is bedridden, and 
 has a daughter who can't leave him. There's a 
 boy, a very distant relative, who was here once, 
 but he's only fifteen." 
 
 "That's not much good. Who were Mr 
 Hardman's solicitors ? " 
 
 " I never heard." 
 
 "Then who is to be sent for?" He put his 
 hand to his head. It was a bit of a fix. 
 
 " I am sorry I can't help you." 
 
 " Has he made a will ? " 
 
 " I happen to know that he has."
 
 i88 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 He looked down at me quite suspiciously. "Who 
 drew it?" 
 
 " He drew it himself." 
 
 " Perhaps, as you know so much, you happen to 
 know where it is ? " 
 
 " In that drawer," said I, pointing to a little 
 table in a corner of the room. It was a mean 
 little table — Dutch — not even English marquetry ; 
 you would never look at it twice. "If what my 
 mistress, Lady Violet, told me he told her is still 
 true, the will is there, in the right-hand drawer, 
 which is unlocked." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " 
 
 " I suppose he thought no one would ever look 
 for an important document in such an obvious 
 place." 
 
 " Oh, that's what you think ! " said Ferrars testily. 
 " Well, I suppose it is my duty to look and see if 
 I can find out from it who is appointed executor ? 
 You had better see me open it. . . ." 
 
 He hesitated. He was rather a nice little man, 
 although he was disposed to snub me while asking 
 for my help. I didn't mind. It was a horrid hole 
 he was in. The will was there ; I felt certain, 
 somehow, that Mr Hardman had never moved it 
 since the day five years ago when he had told 
 Lady Violet, chuckling, that he had written his 
 will on a half-sheet of notepaper and left it lying 
 about in a drawer. Margot had been sitting with 
 the back of her chair jammed against the very 
 drawer all last evening. I am sure that if I had
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 189 
 
 been " friendly," as she called it, and betrayed the 
 secret to her, that she would not have been able 
 to keep her hands off the key to the perennial 
 mystery of the affair of the Hardman succession. 
 I must own that I now felt a tremor of expecta- 
 tion, doomed to be disappointed, when Dr Ferrars, 
 who had taken a turn round the room, suddenly 
 came back to my side, and ejaculated : 
 
 " No ; on second thoughts I won't touch the 
 thing. I prefer to leave it to the coroner. Here, 
 give us some sealing-wax, and we will seal up 
 the drawer till the morning. You have peeped, 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 " No," I said ; " and I have not told some people 
 where to find it who were very anxious to know." 
 
 He did not commend me for my discretion, but 
 affixed the great seal of Cardinal Vitelleschi, which 
 I selected for him from Mr Hardman's collection, 
 to the drawer, and went for his hat. 
 
 " I have to attend an inquest to-morrow morning, 
 or rather, to-day, at the ' Blue Pig.' I'll look up the 
 coroner's officer on my way home, and I daresay 
 I shall be able to get the same jury up here some 
 time in the course of the day, when they are 
 through with Mrs Blue Pig. She died a natural 
 death enough, like Mr Hardman, but it's as well 
 to be careful. Now you go to bed. Nobody's to 
 touch anything, mind ! " 
 
 " I am sure I don't want to touch anything " 
 
 I began, but he interrupted me. 
 
 " Now, don't you get cross. You have been very
 
 I90 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 good and quite useful — a contrast to those other 
 idiots. One's at my house — the one that came to 
 fetch me. My sister kept her, gave her a shake- 
 down on the sofa." 
 
 " But why ? " 
 
 " Fool ! Said she couldn't sleep in the house 
 with a dead body ! " 
 
 " Lots of people feel like that," said I. " I shall 
 lie down, but I don't expect to sleep." 
 
 " You will. Good-bye for the present." 
 
 And I did. I slept till eleven o'clock. I was 
 still in my room when Dr Ferrars sent up a 
 message for me to come down. I obeyed him, 
 and found twelve fat men and true in possession 
 of the octagon room, with bits of clean blotting- 
 paper in front of them. They had already been 
 into the next room to view the body. 
 
 " This young lady," said little Ferrars, beaming 
 on me, " has a fairly good head on her shoulders. 
 She knows where the will is. Miss Courtenay, 
 will you give Mr — Ditchwater the information 
 he requires?" 
 
 " Certainly," I replied. " Mr Hardman's will is 
 in this room, to the best of my knowledge." 
 
 I spoke boldly, but I felt that I should look 
 very foolish supposing Mr Hardman had seen fit 
 to remove the document. Such a contretemps 
 was quite within the bounds of possibility, for it 
 was quite two years since Lady Violet had passed 
 his confidence on to me. But no, it was all right ; 
 a very mean-looking piece of paper was taken out
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 191 
 
 of the drawer by Mr Ditchwater — it was lying on 
 the top — and I could see the superscription in 
 large untidy letters: "My Will." 
 
 "This seems simple enough," said Ditchwater. 
 "Everything of which Mr Ralph Hardman died 
 possessed is bequeathed to Miss Mary Anna 
 Lancaster, and she is appointed joint executor 
 with Mr Casimir Livingston. Does any one know 
 where these two persons live ? " 
 
 " I do," I answered, and again the doctor beamed 
 on me as I gave the addresses of Mariuscha and 
 her lover. 
 
 The order for burial was given, and the coroner 
 and his men departed. Ferrars had an urgent 
 case hard by, and could not drive back just yet, 
 so I volunteered to go to the village and send 
 two telegrams, the substance of which had been 
 dictated to me previously : 
 
 " Your prescjice necessary Mr Hardman deadP 
 
 I altered nor added nothing. But I wondered 
 if either of the two knew who his fellow-executor 
 would be ! 
 
 I sat down to lunch alone. " Do you mind 
 being left?" Ferrars had asked me, with a note 
 of sympathy in his voice. He was too busy to 
 stop. Desdemona was still in bed, Margot was 
 with Miss Ferrars ; the doctor was to bring her 
 back at five, when he had promised to be here to 
 meet either or both of the executors, should they 
 elect to come down by the only quick train from 
 town.
 
 192 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 Though I assured him I did not mind being left^ 
 I found the mournful house very oppressive, and 
 sooner than sit still and do nothing, I thought I 
 would put on my hat and walk the mile that lay 
 between Hardman Hall and the little branch 
 railway that served us. Should Mariuscha come 
 alone I knew that she would not object to my 
 company on the walk back ; and if Casimir 
 Livingston happened to be in the train too, 
 my presence might prevent some little awkward- 
 ness. 
 
 I was there an hour too soon. I walked up and 
 down that macadamised platform in the sweltering 
 sunlight until I began to feel that nothing in the 
 world mattered except that train and its freightage. 
 Would one come? Would two come? Would 
 neither of them come? 
 
 The little " potty train," as Margot called it, for 
 there were generally not more than three coaches 
 to it, was late. Mariuscha got out of one of the 
 carriages, and Livingston out of another. Yet they 
 could hardly have failed to see each other at the 
 junction ? 
 
 Mariuscha had no luggage, only a small despatch 
 box in her hand. She was not in mourning, but 
 she always wore dark things, and managed to look 
 restful and cool on this hot September day. 
 
 " Carrie, my poor child, how pale you look ! " she 
 said kindly. " Can we get a fly here ? " 
 
 " There is one just going, that brought some 
 people in," I replied. I suspected that her nice
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 193 
 
 thought of the fly was for me; she had meant 
 to walk. 
 
 " Casimir, will you collar it for us, please, 
 then ? " 
 
 Eagerly, grey coat-tails flying, he performed her 
 behest, and after carefully putting us in, was just 
 raising his hat, when Mariuscha interposed : 
 
 " My dear boy, you must come with us. There's 
 no other conveyance, and I expect you are going 
 to the same place?" 
 
 Livingston silently obeyed her, and the carriage 
 door closed on us, and we were soon bowling 
 through the lanes. What a long way it seemed, 
 far longer than when I walked it ! I watched his 
 face as he sat uncomfortably opposite us in the fly. 
 He looked older. Well, one cannot stay a pink 
 baby for ever! Even now he was ruddier than 
 Mariuscha, whose skin reminded me more than 
 ever of magnolia blossom or white Castille soap 
 
 Presently Mariuscha fell to questioning me, 
 rather perfunctorily, I thought, concerning the 
 manner of Mr Hardman's decease. I found her 
 sangfroid somewhat rather appalling, from a senti- 
 mental point of view, but soothing and restful after 
 the screeching of Desdemona, and the vulgar 
 acerbities of Margot Bligh, I could not have 
 repeated to her what was in my mind, and that 
 was the brutal conversation we had held only a 
 few hours ago with the man that was now lying 
 dead, and the coarseness of its present application. 
 Thank goodness, Margot had been the worst! 
 
 N
 
 194 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 Therefore, she would not tell. I simply said that 
 he had died in our midst. The truth was too 
 grotesque, and out of all harmony with these two 
 urbane yet tragic personages going so earnestly 
 and quietly to meet the embarrassments and 
 obstructions that awaited them. They seemed to 
 me as pitiful as they were gorgeous. Mariuscha's 
 beauty, which never was more noticeable than now, 
 was the dominant note, her raison d'etre, her 
 apology in both our eyes. His attitude was, of 
 course, undefined to me ; he was simply a young 
 man summoned to the death of an old man he had 
 loved and respected. What was hers ? 
 
 We drove into the grounds through the pillared 
 gate, by the orchard, and over the moat, and past 
 the dovecot — all Mariuscha's ! Did she know it ? 
 A large party, as it seemed to me, was gathered 
 in the porch to meet us : Desdemona, with a soft 
 lace scarf thrown over her shoulders ; Margot, 
 smiling blandly and looking as if she wanted to 
 cry Hip, hip, hooray ! and all the four servants. 
 It was disgusting. I thought they really might 
 have been better employed indoors and minding 
 their own several businesses. The sort of triumphal 
 arch nonsense, was, of course, Margot's idea, and 
 most indecent, though I must admit that Mariuscha 
 looked splendid, like a queen coming to receive 
 obeisance from her subjects. Livingston looked 
 fine, too. I don't suppose that porch had sheltered 
 two such magnificent specimens since its feudal 
 days.
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 195 
 
 Margot afterwards declared that they appeared 
 to her as something classical ; Apollo and Diana, 
 a god-like brother and sister. 
 
 She was happy, at any rate. She poured out 
 tea, and chattered away in a welcoming strain 
 without a trace of awkwardness. I suppose we 
 ought all to have been grateful to her for helping 
 us over it so well. Then Dr Ferrars, who had 
 come in, spoke up nervously. I pitied him. There 
 was no reason why he should have undertaken it. 
 He is a decent sort, and didn't mind going out of 
 his way to help a bit, I suppose. 
 
 " Now, young people ! . . . I thought I would 
 let you have your tea in peace first. ... I suppose 
 Miss Courtenay has told you — what you are here 
 for. You are both executors under Mr Hardman's 
 will, and Miss Lancaster is sole legatee." 
 
 Young Livingston rose. He was very red. The 
 tea-party perforce melted away. (Margot melted 
 with reluctance.) I was getting out of my basket 
 chair, not so easy, when a movement of Mariuscha's 
 hand arrested me. . . . 
 
 Mr Livingston was so upset that he never looked 
 to see if he had an audience or no. 
 
 " I had no idea of this," he was saying ; " and, 
 Dr Ferrars — I must decline to have anything to 
 do with it." 
 
 " You mean that you renounce probate ? " said 
 Ferrars. " That's the legal expression." 
 
 " If that is what it means, I do mean it," he 
 exclaimed, vehemently and unsteadily. " And " —
 
 196 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 he looked round for his hat — " it seems to me that 
 I have nothing more to do here " 
 
 " Casimir ! " said Mariuscha appealingly. " Don't 
 go, anybody. May I just speak a word to Mr 
 Livingston?" She went up to him and laid her 
 hand on his raging arm. " Casimir ! " she said 
 gently, and the gentleness of Mariuscha was a 
 thing to remember. " Casimir, isn't it enough to 
 have renounced me ? You have done that. This 
 is such a little thing. . . . Stay and see me 
 through ! " 
 
 He said coldly: "Very well, then, if you 
 wish it." 
 
 " Thank you," she said. " Then — the very first 
 thing to do, it seems to me, is to look through 
 things and discover if some newer and more 
 suitable will does not exist." 
 
 " Bravo ! " exclaimed Ferrars. " A most sensible 
 suggestion, and, coming from Miss Lancaster, most 
 creditable. Why, he may have altered it a dozen 
 times over, since " 
 
 " And the latest may perhaps be less favourable 
 — to me," said Mariuscha. " Let us hope for the 
 best. Meantime, do you think I might venture to 
 have a cigarette ? "
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 " Carrie," said Mariuscha, " I am fearfully dusty. 
 I must wash." 
 
 I took her to the room assigned to her. It was 
 the Beam Room, the biggest, the most haunted 
 room in the house, that none of us liked to sleep 
 in, from the two causes of humility and fear. 
 Even the intrepid Margot had been averse from 
 occupying it. " It's full of snags," she had said. 
 " And if once one got running away from a ghost, 
 those oak beams would trip one up." 
 
 The beams in question represented the upper 
 props of the roof of King Henry's Hall, the main 
 apartment of the old manor house where knights 
 had feasted and minstrels sung and ladies listened. 
 
 The dark, shiny wood looked very odd, grow- 
 ing out of the carpet, as it were, and dividing the 
 room uncomfortably in half The bed itself, with 
 its heavy blue tester, supported by chains from 
 ceiling, would have held four people, and yet the 
 incongruous door of this apartment was so low 
 that you could hardly get in without hitting your 
 head. Taken in all, that Beam Room has been the 
 joy of Mr Hardman's heart. It was, therefore, the 
 
 197
 
 198 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 proper room to put his heiress in, and I believe 
 Margot had taken a malicious pleasure in ordering 
 her box to be carried up there. 
 Only Mariuscha had no box, 
 
 " I didn't bring it. A touch of decent feeling ! " 
 said she. " I will send for it to-morrow. Mean- 
 time, Carrie, you must lend me a nightgown." 
 
 In her bag was something of far greater import- 
 ance to her, though — enough cigarettes to last her 
 for twenty- four hours— and in less than half an hour 
 from her entry into the house, she was installed in 
 the long, low window-seat that ran all round the 
 south side of the room, and had bidden me to 
 " tell the girls that she would be glad to see them." 
 
 " I know they are both dying to investigate me 
 and my attitude," she said, " and it is as well to 
 get it over. I'll back Margot to say more tact- 
 less things in a minute than you would get said 
 in a year. Here they come! Margot modest, 
 Desdemona deprecating ! They have abused me 
 like a pickpocket, now they bow before me like 
 a queen. It is wonderful, isn't it? what money 
 does. How can I respect anybody, except you, 
 Carrie? You are straight — as straight as me." 
 
 She prided herself on her integrity, strange 
 woman ! 
 
 They kissed her solemnly ; Mariuscha, carelessly 
 gracious, offered us all cigarettes and a seat. If 
 we had had a great sheet of embroidery between 
 us the illusion would have been complete, of 
 a queenly chatelaine and her ancillary maidens—
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 199 
 
 a chatelaine who had just borrowed a nightgown 
 of one of them and a pair of shoes of another, 
 but who had brought her own tooth-brush. 
 
 • " Delighted to lend you anything, Mariuscha, 
 dear," Margot, who had been requisitioned for the 
 foot-gear, exclaimed, bringing three pairs in her 
 hands. " Are any of these small enough ? I fear 
 not." 
 
 " You flatter me ! " said Mariuscha, holding out 
 her well-proportioned foot for Margot to try the 
 shoes on for her. To see Margot kneeling humbly 
 before the woman she had scandalised and abused 
 for all these years was very enjoyable. She was in 
 the seventh heaven, but a little anxious until she 
 knew whether the new proprietress meant to take 
 on the late owner's unfinished commission for a 
 five-foot canvas of the Hall or no. She wished 
 now she had not played Penelope, and had finished 
 it and secured the five hundred pounds before he 
 died. Women are so much harder to deal with. 
 I could almost see these thoughts passing through 
 her mind, and so, I expect, did Mariuscha. 
 
 She babbled congratulations. I expected to 
 see Mariuscha kick her like the barbarian king 
 Dagobert as she drivelled on. " But, Mariuscha, 
 dear, how wonderfully it has all turned out ! 
 What an extraordinary world it is for things 
 happening — nice things, delightful things ! Here 
 you are, the mistress of Hardman Hall, as we 
 all suspicioned you would be, and as you ought 
 to be. You will do such a lot of good with it all."
 
 200 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 "Oh, I'm not philanthropic," said Mariuscha. 
 " But I shall be able to gratify my personal 
 tastes." 
 
 " And Art is one of them, isn't it, dear? " 
 " More or less," said the heiress. " I like old 
 masters, I own." 
 " Surely, dear, you must love actuality ! You, 
 
 who are so strong, so alive, so jolly " 
 
 " Oh, stow it, Margot ! I am not jolly ; I am 
 particularly depressed, if you must know." 
 
 " Because Mr Livingston did not congratulate 
 you?" said Desdemona quietly. "Well, you could 
 hardly expect it, could you ? It is a little awkward 
 for him — the situation in which the will has placed 
 him — or, at least, I thought so." 
 
 " You women who write are always looking out 
 for situations. There are far fewer in life than you 
 imagine." 
 
 " Well, he contrived to put you in the wrong, 
 somehow," said Margot bluntly. " I just heard 
 the tail of what he said." 
 
 " Did he ? I was unaware of it. But English- 
 men are always grumpy when they are suddenly 
 thrust into an official position of any kind." 
 
 "And, after all," I could not help saying, "we 
 all have enough to depress us ; there is somebody 
 lying dead in the house." 
 
 " Oh, Carrie ! " exclaimed Margot. " Why do 
 you remind one? We were all so jolly here, I 
 had almost forgotten. You have spoilt it all." 
 "Well," said Desdemona wearily, perfunctorily,
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 201 
 
 as if making a set speech previously arranged 
 between her and Margot, " I suppose I ought 
 to go and pack ? " 
 
 " So ought I," said Margot, making a terribly 
 long face, also rehearsed beforehand. 
 
 " Sit still ! " commanded Mariuscha. " What do 
 yon want to pack up for ? " 
 
 " We must clear out, I suppose ? This is your 
 house." 
 
 " No need," said Mariuscha laconically. " Even 
 if it is my house — and we are not quite certain 
 of that — you can stay, anybody who wants to. 
 There is room enough for us all. Please stay 
 here as long as you like — all except Carrie, and 
 she is to stay as long as / like ! " 
 
 I was flattered, but I felt rather sorry for the 
 others, on the reception of this blunt form of snub, 
 and muttered : " I must go as soon as Lady Violet 
 comes home." 
 
 " You seem to have got very fond of Carrie all 
 of a sudden ! " said Margot. " But, after all, why 
 not ? I don't care, for now I can finish my ' pic.,' 
 and Art overrides jealousy." She grinned good- 
 humouredly. 
 
 " Yes, finish your picture, and I'll buy it," said 
 Mariuscha. 
 
 "Isn't there anything you can buy of mine?" 
 Desdemona enquired slily — she had these flashes 
 of intelligence now and then. She continued : 
 "Yes, thank you, Mariuscha, you know I'll be 
 very glad to stay a little. I, too, have something
 
 202 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 to finish, and I find that this is a splendid 
 place for encouraging one's powers of composi- 
 tion." 
 
 " Good soil for nightingales ! " said Mariuscha. 
 " I shall like to have you. Of course, I shan't take 
 any notice of you, you must just go on as if I 
 wasn't here, I am sorry there is only one young 
 man among the three." 
 
 " And he's took ! " remarked Margot quite gaily. 
 " I say, I keep forgetting that this is a house of 
 mourning " 
 
 "You will think me peculiar," said Mariuscha 
 quite gravely, "but I tell you that I don't think 
 it is an occasion for grief, when an old, weary, 
 widowed man, in the fullness of years, goes down, 
 and joins his fathers, decently and in order. It 
 isn't as if he had been cut off by an accident. 
 * Oh, thou soft natural death, joint twin to sleep.' 
 He didn't suffer a minute, or think of dying, 
 so Carrie tells me. He just fell back, wearied, 
 on to the earth from which he came, and where 
 his bones are to be laid, and I don't see why we 
 educated women should pretend to be horrified 
 at anything so natural. . . ." 
 
 Margot quivered with shame at the thought of 
 her frenzied hour on the doctor's sister's sofa, 
 which would certainly have incurred the whole- 
 sale condemnation of her present idol. " You 
 are so delightfully unconventional, Mariuscha ! " 
 she muttered. 
 
 "I am a stoic. Why should I be afflicted for
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 203 
 
 one who is either happy or nothing? If he is 
 happy, then 'tis I am envious, while it is nothing 
 short of madness to lament the fate of a 
 nonentity ! " 
 
 " Who said that ? " enquired Desdemona, scent- 
 ing a quotation. 
 
 " Seneca." 
 
 " Gracious ! " 
 
 " I can give you more of that sort of thing, if 
 you like. Did you ever hear of the architects of 
 the Temple who begged Apollo to reward them 
 as was best.? The oracle told them to spend 
 seven days in rejoicing, and on the night their 
 reward would come." 
 
 " What was it ? " 
 
 " They died in sleep." 
 
 " Where on earth did you mug all this up ? " 
 said Margot, adding in a loud aside : " And why 
 should she take on about Mr Hardman's death, 
 indeed — the person who had everything to gain 
 by it! Well, come along, Desdemona, and let 
 us unpack, much nicer job than the other. We 
 will thank dear Mariuscha and be off — leave the 
 princess with her favourite maid of honour ; it's 
 Carrie's turn now. I don't mind, I have the 
 artist's divine detachment, I only care for my 
 ' pic' " 
 
 When the queer little door near the bed-head 
 had closed behind this compound of indelicacy and 
 good soul that was Margot Bligh, Mariuscha put 
 away her cigarette.
 
 204 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " Carrie," she said, " I didn't want to ask you 
 before them, but where is He ? " 
 
 " In the Blue Room. I was wondering — — " 
 
 " Why I didn't ask before ? Can you take me to 
 him ? I don't want that coarse Shetland pony of 
 a woman to know that I asked to see him. I like 
 her to think me hard and odious." 
 
 I appreciated this mood of hers, somehow, and 
 like persons engaged on some nefarious errand we 
 flew across open spaces and slid along passages 
 until we came to the quiet, grey room where poor 
 old Mr Hardman lay. It was darkened so care- 
 fully that we had entered and closed the door 
 behind us before we realised that the room was 
 not empty. Livingston was there, and he had 
 just placed a large bunch of white lilies that had 
 been brought down from London on the breast 
 of the dead man. He raised his sad eyes as we 
 came in, but did not move. He was on the other 
 side of the bed; his well-coloured skin and healthy 
 flesh tones contrasted noticeably with the general 
 paleness of grey face and white sheet. 
 
 Mariuscha looked at the flowers he had laid down. 
 " I wish I had thought of that ! " she said softly. 
 Then she stooped and kissed the cold forehead. 
 
 Livingston watched her. It was easy to see 
 that he did not look on her action as profanation 
 or consider her kiss as a Judas tribute, or expect to 
 see blood well forth from the nostrils of her dead 
 benefactor. I longed for those two to take hands 
 over the bed, and for the woman to abjure her
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 205 
 
 unlawful inheritance for the sake of the great love 
 of which her beautiful eyes were full. But she 
 said nothing, she stayed still. Mariuscha had the 
 power of staying still longer than any woman I 
 ever knew. Then, with a small, slow head-shake, 
 of which I believe she was unconscious, she left 
 the room.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 An up-and-down search of the most exhaustive 
 kind failed to bring to light anything of the nature 
 of a testamentary disposition in the handwriting 
 of the late Mr Hardman. Mary Anna Lancaster 
 was the undisputed heiress of his property, as 
 bequeathed to her on the little half-sheet of note- 
 paper. She had to take his name. There was 
 the notorious old Mason's legacy and some trifling 
 bequests to people in the village, chiefly dependants 
 or protegees of his late wife's, and substantial gifts 
 to the four female servants, including the cook, 
 whom I had never seen. Neither had Mariuscha, 
 I gathered. She certainly carried the policy of 
 laisser /aire to its utmost extent. Everything 
 went on as usual. The four maids worshipped 
 her. No wonder ! Margot painted. Desdemona 
 scribbled. I sewed. I often, at Mariuscha's 
 request, took my work, and sat in the octagon 
 room beside her and her sulky co-executor, as 
 they sat bored and busy with a maze of papers 
 spread out on the table in front of them. I ought 
 not to say sulky, but he was sad, and evidently 
 loathed his unsolicited task of writing letters, 
 
 206
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 207 
 
 paying bills, hunting up creditors, and all the 
 dreary duties undertaken in connection with the 
 inheritance he abhorred. 
 
 One morning I heard the name of George 
 Grant — the boy that pinched me — and gathered 
 that Mariuscha had offered to pay for his education 
 at Eton. 
 
 " A sop to Livingston," I thought, " and 
 Livingston won't accept it ! " 
 
 George Grant's people did, though. They were 
 evidently not at all averse to profiting by the 
 remorse of the usurper. 
 
 " His people write like cads," Mariuscha said, 
 hiding- a hideous-coloured letter in her hand. " I 
 am sure he isn't a nice boy, and won't even take 
 the polish of Eton I am going to give him ! " 
 
 " What matter of that? " asked Livingston wearily. 
 
 " You consider him the rightful heir ? " said she 
 lightly. 
 
 " He is. There is not a doubt of it." 
 
 " And ought to be here instead of me ? " 
 
 " Certainly. In equity." 
 
 " And so, Casimir, for the sake of an artificial 
 system of equity based upon some old laws of 
 savagery — for that's all it is — you prefer to snub 
 me and lose me ! Well, I am not going to go 
 down upon my knees to you to take me — though 
 that's savage, too, and might appeal to you, when 
 sheer good arguments fail — and yet, I don't know 
 that I am not capable of it." 
 
 Her tall figure bent as she stood beside him
 
 2o8 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 at the table ; in another moment her head, with 
 its rolling black hair, was on his knee. I was 
 in the room all the time, but a curious trait in 
 Mariuscha was her utter, indecent, want of self- 
 consciousness. He forgot me, too. He looked 
 down on her for a moment, and then, flinging 
 away from her, laid his head on the table. He 
 raised it a moment later ; his eyes were red 
 and bloodshot. 
 
 " I cannot. Please get up. I hate you to be 
 
 kneeling to me, when it ought to be I who " 
 
 " Yes, and why don't you ? " said she, rising. 
 " The parts are reversed with us, unfortunately. 
 Why can't you see the thing as I do?" 
 " I wish to God you could make me ! " 
 " If I were better-looking, perhaps I could," the 
 girl said cynically. " Your stubbornness is a great 
 reflection on my powers of persuasion." 
 
 " Good heavens, it isn't that ! You " 
 
 " No, I know it isn't that. Don't be so stupid, 
 Casimir ; it was only something to get me off 
 my knees, as they say on the stage. Isn't he 
 absurd, Carrie ? I am the woman he wants, and 
 he won't take me because I happen to have some 
 sense — and a head on my shoulders. If he were 
 a Frenchman, now, he would seize the advantage 
 of having a wife with a good head for business. 
 I see it all. There's nobody, really, between 
 me and my dear old friend's kindness. Why 
 can't we take it all as he meant it — en tout 
 bien, tout honneur. He cared for nobody but
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 209 
 
 me. And we can leave it all to George Grant, 
 if we die without having any children." 
 
 Livingston rose, took his hat, and went out. 
 
 "You drove him away with that last remark," 
 I could not help saying. 
 
 " Why ? Was it wrong ? " 
 
 " He is an Englishman." 
 
 "Well, I am always knocking up against them 
 and their prejudices, somehow," complained 
 Mariuscha, one of whose most innocent weak- 
 nesses was her affectation of a predominant 
 foreign strain. " A man who won't marry Me 
 because of a prejudice ! Good Lord ! " 
 
 " It is more than that," I said hastily, and then 
 repented of my incaution and the explanations 
 it entailed, for Mariuscha was down on me in 
 a moment. 
 
 " What more is it ? " she begged. 
 
 " Well, dear, excuse me, you speak so easily 
 of all things connected with — you seem proud 
 of not being particular — about morals — and, of 
 course, it is rather different from the way his 
 mother and sisters would regard such questions. 
 They would make a point of being shy when 
 they have to speak of divorces, and not talk 
 willingly of ' liaisons ' and ' naughty old men,' 
 and all that sort of thing. He considers, of 
 course, that the next thing to casually discussing 
 an act, is doing it, and your relations with Mr 
 Hardman have been — considerably misinter- 
 preted, haven't they ? " 
 
 O
 
 2IO A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " I should think so ! Margot gained a reputation 
 for being good company on them ; she has seen 
 that my misdeeds percolated properly into every 
 house where she had the entree. But, Carrie, 
 you are right about me: I do think those sort 
 of things you speak of are not so very important 
 among the other business that makes up life, 
 such as getting fed and clothed and a roof over 
 one. But, as a matter of fact, I am quite good." 
 
 " I know you are. Heroism without risk — 
 respectability without morals ! " 
 
 " But to be respectable when one doesn't think 
 it any harm to be the other thing is surely far 
 more difficult— and unlikely ? It is like living in 
 a country where there are no hedges, one is 
 tempted to trespass at every turn and never knows 
 when one is doing it, either. At the same time, 
 if Casimir can't be persuaded to marry me, I am 
 prepared But I shall shock you?" 
 
 " Yes, if you finish your sentence. Don't, for I 
 understand you. But he never will." 
 
 " Then we are best apart. We should be 
 paddling in the divorce court before we knew 
 where we were." 
 
 "Did I hear the word divorce?" said Margot, 
 eagerly coming in, 
 
 " Yes, but it is not imminent as yet. Tell me, 
 girls, how does the present arrangement of the 
 household strike you?" 
 
 " Perfect," we agreed. 
 
 " Then you will think I am right in arranging
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 211 
 
 to keep on the establishment on the present foot- 
 ing without any change. I have re-engaged the 
 four maids and the cook, and I have promised 
 never to set foot in my own kitchen until some- 
 thing goes wrong." 
 
 " What an opportunity for them to ' do ' you ! " 
 ejaculated Margot. 
 
 " Not if I keep my part of the bargain, and I 
 mean to." 
 
 " You are a cure ! " said Margot again. 
 
 " No, only lazy. I know when to let well alone, 
 and well is what gives me no trouble. If they 
 like to ' do ' me, mildly, to the tune of good 
 cookery and good service, I have no objection. 
 Live and let live. We all peculate, in our 
 degree." 
 
 Margot sneered uncomfortably. Mariuscha had 
 a way of divining the bitter reflection that would 
 be likely to rise to the tongue of the other, and 
 getting in front of her with it. I left them and 
 sought Livingston in the rock garden, where I 
 knew he had gone. 
 
 He was stooping tenderly over the yellow 
 flowers of Tropceolmn poly pJiy Hum growing out of 
 tree lupine, a plant in which Mr Hardman had 
 taken a great interest. He wasn't, I was glad to 
 see, the sort of young man who goes out in his 
 rage after an unpleasant interview and slashes 
 off the heads of poppies or any tall flower that 
 is within range of his stick. 
 
 He raised his head gently as I approached, and
 
 212 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 waited for me to speak. I did, with difficulty. I 
 had set myself a task. 
 
 "Mr Livingston," I said, "you have never 
 asked me for any information about your friend's 
 last hours, yet I was there all the time. . . ." 
 
 " I did not want to distress you," said he ; " but, 
 of course, I should like to know how it all 
 happened. Come and sit in the arbour." 
 
 "Mr Hardman," I said, "talked a good deal 
 before he died." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! Wildly, I suppose ? " 
 
 " No, not wildly, very much to the purpose. He 
 told us all about his first acquaintance — with Miss 
 Lancaster." 
 
 His face grew set. " Miss Courtenay, I would 
 rather " 
 
 "Try not to look stony," I said, "or else you 
 will make it too hard for me to tell you what I am 
 sure you ought to know. Mr Hardman told us 
 what great friends his wife had always been with 
 Mariuscha, and how she had taken her about with 
 her everywhere, and treated her like a daughter." 
 
 " He was the best gentleman in the world." 
 
 " And he loved the young. It was a great and 
 wholly innocent joy to him to have a bright young 
 girl about the place." 
 
 " A bright young girl should not have profited ! " 
 
 " He was infatuated with her." 
 
 " So am I infatuated with her — but I don't mean 
 to profit." 
 
 " 1 know men hate marrying heiresses — but
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 213 
 
 more if they are poor themselves — and you are 
 not poor. And really and truly, I think Mariuscha 
 cares for you." 
 
 " I know she does. Very well, then, it is quite 
 simple. She has only to cede these unrighteous 
 gains — unearned, you say they are — give them up 
 to the boy who has the right to them, and let me 
 keep her. That is the way I see it, I may be 
 pig-headed " 
 
 " You are." 
 
 "You'll find every man the same — on a point 
 of honour. Women don't see these things hi the 
 same light " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, I do." 
 
 " You think she ought to give it all up ? " 
 
 " I should, if it was me — but that's a question 
 of taste merely. I think she is not bound to do 
 so in law." 
 
 " No, she has the law on her side. Well, but 
 there it is ; I am proud, I can't marry money. I 
 am here to administer the thing that parts us, in 
 her behalf, and a damned business it is. Was any 
 man ever bound to such a treadmill ? " 
 
 " Oh, we all have our treadmill," said I, thinking 
 of my personal worry. " Only when my own affairs 
 go most crooked I seem to want to make other 
 people's go straight." 
 
 " It is very good of you, dear Miss Courtenay, 
 and I see you have a kind heart ; but in this game, 
 do you see ? only two can play, and we are both 
 resolved "
 
 214 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " It is Margot Bligh who has poisoned your 
 mind," I said uncontrollably, for I could see that 
 he believed some of the things she had had set 
 about, and it enraged me. 
 
 " Fancy talking in the twentieth century of 
 poisoned minds or wells ! " said he, laughing 
 grimly. " No, Margot Bligh is a gossip, but 
 she told me nothing I did not know, or infer. 
 I won't have people inferring things about my 
 wife." 
 
 He turned away. I looked towards the house 
 and saw Margot at that very moment issuing forth. 
 I thought of going and taking her by the false 
 hand and forcing her to repeat to Mr Livingston 
 the substance of the rehabilitating conversation 
 she had held with Mr Hardman in our presence, 
 on the night before his death, but the current of 
 my thoughts were changed by the sight of the 
 bistre-coloured envelope she bore in her hand. 
 Margot always collared telegrams, as a possible 
 means of sensation ; she likes to be in at the 
 death. 
 
 " For me?" I said, opening it. It was from my 
 mistress. 
 
 " Home tomorrow be there." 
 
 " We must cut you some flowers," said Margot 
 hospitably, *' for you to take up to your old woman. 
 I'll speak to Jenkyns."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 The flowers — poor, flappy autumn things ! — died 
 in the train. I left their dead bodies, along with 
 the sandwiches I, somehow, could not eat, behind 
 in the carriage at Waterloo. No one met me, 
 naturally. I gathered up my bag and my rug, 
 sent on my box by " Carted Luggage," and sought 
 the underground station at Westminster, which 
 conveyed me to Praed Street. I took good care 
 not to make my bag heavy, but it was a pretty 
 fair pull, all the same, to Dampier Square. 
 
 By the time my hand was on the bell-pull it 
 was dusk, yet I could see that the doorstep was 
 properly bath-stoned, a detail that servants first 
 omit when a household is overtaken by any form 
 of catastrophe. Neither were the blinds universally 
 down, yet I trembled as the bell resounded 
 through what sounded like empty corridors and 
 carpetless stairs, and positively feared to look on 
 the face of Staples, what time the open door 
 should disclose that well-known mask of self- 
 satisfaction and insolence. 
 
 There was, however, no perceptible change on 
 that face, as I asked breathlessly : " Lady Violet 
 
 215
 
 2i6 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 all right, Staples ? Which room is she sitting 
 in?" 
 
 "Yes, miss, all right," answered Staples, with 
 I know not what unusual inflection of kindliness 
 and commiseration. " In the morning - room. 
 Colonel Lisbon is with her." 
 
 " Ah, then, I can run upstairs and take my 
 things off before going in to her," I said nervously, 
 forgetting that it was hardly necessary for Lady 
 Violet's companion — I was still that, I suppose ? — 
 to justify the details of her conduct to Lady 
 Violet's parlour-maid. I flew upstairs as if some 
 devil was waiting to confront me on every landing, 
 and busied myself in deliberately reoccupying my 
 room. I could not unpack, for my box was not 
 due until to-morrow. As time went on, it became 
 a sort of fixed idea with me that I would contrive 
 to wait upstairs until James's call came to an end, 
 and so not see him this day at all. God knows 
 how I longed to see him ! And perhaps I had 
 misconstrued his action, after all. He might have 
 elected to visit Lady Violet on this day because 
 he had somehow or other been told of my expected 
 arrival ? ... It was a sign of affection ? . . . No ; 
 my instinct told me this was not so, and that in 
 sober truth Caroline Courtenay, whom he pretended 
 to love, counted for nothing in his plans. 
 
 My loneliness and sense of unjust deprivation 
 came over me in a great wave, and I cried 
 childishly, leaning out over the window-sill into 
 the mews, on the principle of the school-boy
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 217 
 
 who dared not smoke into the room for fear of 
 the authorities. I had no authorities to pander to, 
 but it would never have done for Staples to hear 
 the sound of sobs as she passed my door on her 
 way to turn down Lady Violet's coverlid. 
 
 Would the man never go? It struck seven. 
 ... It struck the half-hour. . . . 
 
 We dined at a quarter to eight. I drew my 
 head in and shut the window, and dressed for 
 dinner. Perhaps he had gone long ago, and with 
 my head out of the window I had not heard the 
 clash of the hall door. 
 
 Staples did pass a few moments later. I asked 
 her if " the gentleman " had gone. 
 
 " Staying dinner, miss," said Staples shortly. 
 Then, as she went on her way to dump down a 
 jug full of hot water in Lady Violet's basin, 
 she muttered over her shoulder : " As usual ! " 
 
 The dinner - gong sounded. Dinner was a 
 quarter of an hour late, or they had altered the 
 hour. I put on my forbidden pearls — as an act 
 of defiance, I suppose — and drifted downstairs 
 like a visitor. James was adroitly supporting 
 Lady Violet downstairs. 
 
 " Oh, Carrie ! " said she, rather kindly than other- 
 wise, a sure sign that things were going well 
 with her, " I wondered if you had come. A little 
 slower, please. Colonel Lisbon, I get less and 
 less equal to hurry." 
 
 "There is no hurry," said my lover politely to 
 the old woman, who panted — not he, although all
 
 2i8 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 her not inconsiderable weight rested on him. His 
 beautiful eyes were fixed on me for a moment. 
 He had not, of course, his hand free to offer me. 
 I fancied he was rather glad of that fact than 
 otherwise. I followed them, turning the train of 
 Lady Violet's velvet dress with my foot gently, 
 to avoid treading on it. Poor thing, she had 
 been quite well able to get downstairs without 
 aid before I left her two months ago ! 
 
 James carved. 
 
 I would not look at him, but I had time to 
 closely observe the face of my patroness sitting 
 at the foot of her own table, as if she would never 
 move from it again. Her difficulty in getting 
 about was apparently not the result of corpulence. 
 The poor old thing had grown sadly, terrifically 
 thin ; her cheeks and her gown alike hung literally 
 in bags. I automatically remembered her medicine, 
 which stood usually on the sideboard, and which 
 it had been my duty and privilege to give her. I 
 rose, stiffly saying : " Your drops, Lady Violet ! " 
 
 " Colonel Lisbon will pour them out for me. 
 He has a steady hand." 
 
 There was no denying that. He poured them 
 out for her with enviable precision. He also cut 
 up her meat for her with a kind of knife they 
 call a masticateur, I believe, and which, it appeared, 
 he had procured for her from Paris. He peeled 
 her an orange, he mixed her jorum of whisky 
 and water. I sat like the stone I felt. I was 
 totally unoccupied, and no one seemed to know
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 219 
 
 or care what I did. To think that I, who secretly 
 grumbled at the hundred and one tasks that I 
 had been used to perform for Lady Violet, should 
 be so vexed when suddenly enabled to sit with 
 my hands in my lap. But I hated seeing James — 
 a man — doing them ! 
 
 When the dinner — dietary in character, and 
 unattractive to a man, one would have thought 
 — was over, James helped Lady Violet upstairs 
 again to the drawing-room, and tenderly estab- 
 lished her in a chaise longue under the lamp, 
 neatly pulling the shade of it into the position 
 most pleasant to her. Then he set himself to 
 make conversation. 
 
 It was not a great success. / tried my best. 
 I was not hurt, or even offended — no one, after 
 all, had done anything to offend or hurt me — I 
 was simply paralysed, stupefied. I did not know 
 what to do, and there was no need for me to do 
 anything, there was the rub of it. I sat there, 
 dropped into my chair, not sitting on it, an inert, 
 shapeless piece of goods, as Lady Violet used 
 to say. 
 
 The clock on the mantelpiece ticked. Time, 
 in gold, moved his sickle. . . . James's profile 
 seemed suddenly to have gone a long way off. 
 ... I fancy my head sank, weakly, uneasily, and 
 James noticed it, as he always did notice things. 
 I will give him that credit, he was a born nurse. 
 
 " Miss Courtenay seems tired after her journey," 
 he remarked.
 
 220 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " Let her go to bed, then," answered Lady 
 Violet. " We will excuse her." 
 
 There was nothing else to do but thank her for, 
 and profit by, her permission. I rose, and my 
 knees gave, as I stood for a moment to bid them 
 both good night, and give James my hand. He 
 was not yet an inmate of the house. 
 
 " Have a hot bottle or something ! " he said in 
 a loud voice, retaining my hot hand. " Have a 
 dozen hot bottles. Nothing like them for a chill." 
 
 " She can order anything she likes," said Lady 
 Violet. " She knows her way about here. Good 
 night to you, Caroline. Sleep it off. Don't hurry 
 down in the morning ! " 
 
 How very, cruelly kind she was ! I wished she 
 would bully me as usual. 
 
 James had preceded jne to the door and was 
 holding it open for me. It was masked by a 
 heavy screen which had been put there during my 
 absence. Lady Violet could see neither of us. As 
 I stood vacillating — through fatigue, not indecision 
 — on the threshold, James stooped and kissed me. 
 I suppose, if I had chosen, that I could easily have 
 turned my head away and so evaded his embrace, 
 but I was too slow. Indeed, I did not care to 
 refuse the kiss that meant nothing to me now. I 
 received it, and went on. He shut the door after 
 me. Just before it closed I heard Lady Violet's 
 affected cough and remark : 
 
 " Brr ! When you have quite done kissing my 
 companion behind the door — — ! "
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 221 
 
 I suppose he took pains to justify himself, but I 
 knew her better than he did. As a matter of fact, 
 she did not dream that there could be any truth in 
 her ill-bred badinage ; he had bamboozled her far 
 too well. Probably it was he who had persuaded 
 her to have the screen put in that very place for 
 our future convenience. Strange to say, he wanted 
 to kiss me now and then. The old woman had 
 the money, but the girl had the pretty face ; at 
 least, he had once been good enough to tell me so. 
 But I swore to myself that he should never kiss 
 me again. Interviews gained at the cost of so 
 much degradation were savourless — nay, odious. 
 He had made a great mistake. And what did he 
 get by it? Did she make him handsome presents ? 
 And if he sought to ingratiate himself with my 
 patroness merely to facilitate our meetings, that 
 could easily have been arranged without her inter- 
 mission. I did not know how to interpret his 
 conduct. Perhaps I was unjust? Perhaps I was 
 not hard enough on such an arrant fortune-hunter. 
 Was he that ? I remembered the episode of his 
 temporary devotion to Ralph Hardman, and replied 
 mentally in the affirmative. And the worst of it 
 was, that be the truth about his stay at Hardman 
 Hall what it may, and his object with Lady Violet 
 the same, he had succeeded in making himself in- 
 dispensable to the old lady — a female companion 
 would henceforth be quite useless. Like the maid of 
 the old ladies of Cranford, she " liked the lads best." 
 
 I did tell James something of all this in the
 
 222 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 course of an interview I had with him at a bun 
 shop in the Strand one Saturday afternoon. It 
 was not a fete, by any means. I think I shall 
 loathe nobbly black currants sticking out of stale 
 buns, and dishwater tea all my life, the more because 
 of their connection with my squalid engagement. 
 James had a brandy and soda. 
 
 He was suave and unsatisfactory. He had this 
 peculiarity that he hardly ever answered a question 
 or met an insinuation directly. He disconcerted 
 me by his vague replies to rather carefully-framed 
 interrogations, which, when once I had missed fire 
 with them, I was ashamed of putting again, in so 
 many words. On the other hand, he volunteered 
 several illuminating remarks on the situation 
 generally. 
 
 " The poor old woman ! " he said, with his 
 napkin tenderly brushing a crumb off my jacket. 
 " I must say I do feel it rather low down to play 
 her off like this for our benefit " — I stared — " but 
 you know, Carrie, she can't possibly live more than 
 a couple of years at most. Jenkins says so." 
 
 " Do you go and pump Jenkins ? " 
 
 " No, Jenkins comes and confides his diagnosis 
 to me. He may be a silly old sieve, but he is no 
 fool ; and he has the sense to see that I am the 
 only person in the world who can get his prescrip- 
 tions carried out. No offence to you, my dear, 
 you have no more influence with her than a mouse 
 — or Staples." 
 
 " I did have, before you came. But you have
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 223 
 
 taken everything out of my hands, for reasons best 
 known to yourself" I glanced at him, but he did 
 not wince. "And what are his silly prescriptions, 
 since you have undertaken to administer them ? 
 One would be apt to imagine that you were giving 
 her arsenic, you are so mysterious about it — only, 
 unfortunately, you aren't her husband ! " 
 
 " No, not yet ! " said he, laughing, and his laugh 
 was so frank and open that I was sorry I was 
 being so disagreeable to him. " But as for old 
 Jenks' remedies, they are very simple. It is that 
 mysterious thing called ' nursing ' that she wants. 
 Some drugs, of course, but, for the most part, 
 restricted diet and absolute rest and freedom from 
 worry. You know what a restless old girl she is, 
 and how she loves her dinner ? " 
 
 "Well, but — is there positive disease?" 
 
 " Of course there is positive disease, you little 
 goose ! An aneurism — an abdominal aneurism." 
 
 I did not know exactly what that was, but I 
 wished to be equal to the occasion in James's eyes, 
 so I said, with some artificial apprehension — it is 
 astonishing how stony I felt about poor Lady 
 Violet's case ! — " But that is a very painful illness, 
 I believe?" 
 
 " You believe ! I know it ! I often admire her 
 — she is a plucky old creature, and bravely 
 minimises her sufferings so as not to worry me. 
 She can even manage to raise a joke now and 
 then when she is at her worst. She takes a 
 tremendous and cultured interest in her own
 
 224 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 symptoms, I may tell you — argues about them 
 by the hour." 
 
 I was cross, there was not a doubt of it. " Not 
 a very entertaining subject for a perfect stranger 
 like you, one would have supposed," I observed 
 coldly. " One can't help wondering why you do 
 it." 
 
 " Oh, Carrie, really, now — why do I do it ? I 
 should have thought that an ordinarily womanly 
 woman might have guessed if her thoughts were 
 not perverted by temper. Ever since you came 
 back, dear, you have seemed positively to hate 
 me. 
 
 " I dislike your tortuous methods ; indeed, I do. 
 I had far rather personally see you every seven 
 days at places like this and exist on the recollec- 
 tion of it for the rest of the week than watch 
 you degrading yourself " 
 
 " Hold on, Carrie ! I can't have you speak like 
 that to me. And how you can use that word in 
 connection with a pure act of charity beats me 
 to discover. I don't deserve particularly to go 
 to Heaven I know, but I am a deuced deal less 
 likely to be kicked out by good Peter at the gate, 
 if a few acts of kindness to a poor lonely old 
 woman can be placed to my account." 
 
 " But I can do all that is necessary — I am paid 
 for it." 
 
 " Unfortunately, Carrie, you are of the sex that 
 appeals to men, not to old invalid ladies. Don't 
 you see, the whole point is that what she likes is
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 225 
 
 to be fussed over by a man — and a man whom 
 she does not pay, either ! " 
 
 " Doesn't she ? " I was beside myself. 
 
 James tinkled the spoon against his cup, and, 
 summoning the waiter, paid for the tea. He did 
 not tip him, I noticed that. He sullenly allowed 
 the man to help him on with his great-coat, and, 
 without a word, I followed him out into the cold, 
 emotion - blighting street. I was too angry to 
 speak. My world had definitely crumbled with 
 the first really unkind words between us. I 
 wondered what he would do. He stood on the 
 kerb-stone and held out his hand. 
 
 " I had better not see you home," he said, " for^ 
 if I do, I shall have to potter about in Dampier 
 Square for a decent interval before I come in, 
 and the wind is pretty sharp." He drew the fur 
 collar of his coat about his ears. It was a new 
 one, and it suddenly struck me that Lady Violet 
 had given it to him. He was altogether too much 
 for me. 
 
 " Oh, are you coming to dinner ? " I said wearily, 
 turning away. 
 
 " Certainly I am, if you have no objection ? " 
 
 " The guests are no concern of the companion, 
 are they ? " 
 
 " Temper, temper ! " said he. " I was going to 
 say that if you will depart from your usual frigidity 
 for once and contrive to let me out when I go, we 
 might get a few words together — that is, if you 
 care tOv" 
 
 P
 
 226 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " No, 1 do not care to, like that, in Lady Violet's 
 house — clandestinely," I answered, almost crying, 
 for he drove me so, " And all the while you are 
 leading her to believe that she is your special 
 friend, and that you go to see her only. It is 
 just a horribly false position that you are wanting 
 to place me in, and I simply can't feel natural. 
 No, I feel odious, and thwarted, and bitter, and 
 as if it was wrong even to speak to you " 
 
 " As you like," he said sulkily at last. " I find 
 it impossible to make love to a porcupine ; any 
 man would, I should imagine. You have a temper, 
 Carrie. Perhaps you had rather I did not come 
 at all to-night? I can make some lame excuse 
 and disappoint her " 
 
 " I don't care what you do." 
 
 He raised his hat stiffly, to mark his sense of 
 our estrangement, I suppose, and went off in the 
 direction of the city ; while I, feeling perfectly 
 stunned, boarded a West End 'bus at the peril 
 of my life, because my usually agile legs refused 
 their office. The pain of my grazed shin kept 
 me amused all the way home. 
 
 He did not come that night, after all. Taking 
 it all round, I felt and showed less piqued than 
 Lady Violet. You see, I was broken-hearted ! 
 After dinner she dictated a note to him, accusing 
 him of negligence, in the most approved forsaken- 
 woman fashion. The sentiments I penned pretty 
 nearly expressed my own. I wrote it as well as 
 I could, allowing no tears to drop on the page
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 227 
 
 (Lady Violet's vexation did not " run " to tears, 
 although it was acute enough), but it was rather 
 difficult. I added no personal postscript, although 
 it would have been quite easy to do so, as I was 
 bidden to go and put the missive in the pillar-box 
 myself. Lady Violet seemed averse to Staples 
 taking cognisance of the frequency of her notes 
 to Colonel Lisbon. Lady Violet was afraid of 
 Staples in several particulars.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 Now, Lady Violet's house is a prison to me, none 
 
 the less irksome because she is a kind and careless 
 
 jailer, and does not care to keep me locked up. 
 
 Never in all the long years that I have been 
 
 with her, have I had so much time to myself. As 
 
 companion my position is ideal ; she now calls me 
 
 the "lady at large," and hints darkly that I am 
 
 neglecting my duties ; she is not aware — none of 
 
 my friends are — that I have an able understudy, 
 
 who does my work for love. For love ! I am 
 
 beginning to hate the word. There is no love in 
 
 the world, it is all greed and self-seeking. The 
 
 consolation of doing my work and minding my 
 
 own business even is denied me. So long as I am 
 
 to the fore in the morning — and not very early in 
 
 the morning, either — I may lunch and go out to tea 
 
 as much as I like. I might dine out every night, 
 
 if I had any friends well enough off to invite me 
 
 to such a majestic function. Jehane Bruce is, of 
 
 course, always willing, nay, eager, to have me " lap 
 
 in her trough," as she loves to put it ; and I knew 
 
 that Mrs Leadham, who was due back in town for 
 
 228
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 229 
 
 the winter, was sure to be effusively hospitable. 
 But it did not look well, somehow, for me to have 
 so much apparent leisure. I don't know why I 
 should be so solicitous of appearances, and so 
 anxious to preserve Lady Violet's reputation, but, 
 as a matter of fact, I often dined or lunched in 
 a cheap French place in Soho, and then joined the 
 queue at the pit entrance of one of the theatres. 
 I believe every horribly mirthless musical comedy 
 in London thus defiled past my lack-lustre eyes. 
 Several times I saw Perry and Desdemona sitting 
 happily together in the stalls, and Mariuscha and 
 Livingston. Mr and Mrs Langshire preferred 
 Shakespeare. People seemed to be fixing it up 
 all round me. Everybody had some one or other 
 who took an interest in them. Even old women 
 like Lady Violet, whom, miracle of miracles ! 
 happiness had made charitable, and almost 
 pleasant. 
 
 Yes, she smiled on me when I went booted and 
 jacketed into the drawing-room to take her orders. 
 She would frown, when having divested myself of 
 garments symbolical of outdoor pursuits I put in 
 an appearance, ready to read to her or amuse her 
 as usual. I made such official protests now and 
 then, but with a faint heart. I was ordered to bid 
 Staples keep up a good fire in my room, and my 
 room was done up and made smart, and a writing 
 table put in. One knew what that meant ! 
 
 Of course, James read aloud far better than I 
 did, and his conversation exactly suited her
 
 230 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 anaemic brain, and amused without fatiguing her. 
 But how it must have bored him ! I could not 
 discern any remunerative return on her part, 
 unless he appreciated her occasional flashes of 
 caustic insolence and unlovely shrewdness, and 
 found her good company. I had thought her 
 sallies amusing once, but at last they had become 
 so much part of the warp and woof of her daily 
 procedure with me, her " paid " companion, that 
 I could not laugh and did not condescend to wince 
 at them. The galled jade becomes impervious. 
 They were new to James. 
 
 I suppose all this told on my looks, for Perry 
 came to see me, and, brother-like, exclaimed at my 
 appearance. I was all alone in the big drawing- 
 room, as it happened, to receive him. Lady Violet 
 had given up her At Homes. She was in the 
 boudoir with James, who keeps his hat and stick 
 in the hall now — Lady Violet has great faith in 
 the efficacy of some article of male attire negligently 
 hung up in a household composed of women, as a 
 protection against burglars. James obliges her in 
 this particular, as in all others. 
 
 " Poor old girl, you are a great deal too pale 
 even for London ! " Perry exclaimed. " What's 
 the matter? Been going it, eh?" 
 
 "Now, how should I go it, Perry?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. Thought you might have 
 tumbled to something good up at that place where 
 you spent the summer." 
 
 '* In the company of a dying man ? "
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 231 
 
 " I forgot that. But before he died I used to 
 hear of you from my friend Desdemona." 
 
 " Your friend Desdemona ! But she " 
 
 " Breathes fire and fury against me — yes, I know 
 she does. Sweet idiot ! She tells me she has even 
 put me into a novel — novel with a very classy 
 title — The Man of no Moment. Ha! ha! I can 
 laugh at it, for I invented it myself!" 
 
 " She gave you an idea of the plot, then } " I 
 asked drily. 
 
 " Bless her — yes, she did ! Very ordinary plot, 
 just like all women's plots. The title will sell the 
 book, if it does sell. I keep on meeting her at 
 Margot Bligh's, and what can one do but flirt with 
 Desdemona? She demands it. I have no objec- 
 tion — I believe I love her still. There's a kind 
 of gracious, graceful folly about Desdemona which 
 appeals, and continues to appeal, to one. And she 
 has no sense, of course, but as I have enough for 
 two " 
 
 " Then Jehane has left off appealing to you, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 " Not exactly, but Jehane is a /eet/e hard. She 
 isn't faithful, either. She would intrigue with a 
 paper at once, quite regardless, if it made her an 
 offer, and sacrifice me to an editor any day. No, 
 Jehane is the Amazon of Fleet Street, and she will 
 die an old maid. Now Desdemona — little feminine, 
 shrinking thing " 
 
 "Ah, but I suppose you have not had the 
 privilege of reading the strong novel ? "
 
 532 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " Not yet. Perhaps never, if I have any luck. 
 I have no insane desire to know Desdemona's 
 opinion of me. Besides, haven't you observed that 
 scoldings always come to him who waits, and that 
 curses return to roost — that is, if I do roost with 
 Desdemona." 
 
 " Shall you, do you think ? " 
 
 " Shouldn't be surprised. Who loves best bullies 
 best, don't you know? and I shall probably go 
 cheerfully half-way to meet my rod in pickle. You 
 know my feeling for her is the kind of frail passion 
 that wears well. She will last far better than a 
 better stuff. She won't come out in the wash " 
 
 " No ; because she has been in it so often. Got 
 mangled, and the dressing all taken out of her." 
 
 " Clever, Carrie — if a little bitter. But don't ride 
 a metaphor to death. Drop it, and tell me if you 
 are going to marry this Lisbon. Because, if you 
 are, I'll tell him you want a course of Hematogen. 
 He must look after his own." 
 
 " No, I am not going to marry him. Why should 
 you imagine that ? " 
 
 " I thought it looked like it — his coming so much 
 
 to the house. Obviously, it can't be for the beaux 
 
 yeux of the old woman, and you have sweet ones. 
 
 Mournful, rather, though. Still, you needn't tell 
 
 me it isn't you he is after." 
 
 " All I can say is he conceals his motive for 
 coming pretty well, then." 
 
 " I am sure " 
 
 " Don't be too sure. He is precisely the kind of
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 233 
 
 pussy-cat man who enjoys pottering about a sick- 
 room." 
 
 Using this horrible impossible phrase in speak- 
 ing of the man I cared for, I hope to allay my 
 brother's suspicions. He, at any rate, changed the 
 subject, enquiring anxiously what I was doing on 
 Christmas Day. 
 
 " I suppose I shall be trying hard, as usual, to 
 pretend it is nothing of the kind." 
 
 " Not you ; you will be having a regular beano 
 this year, with Lisbon to cheer you up. The old 
 woman is sure to invite him." 
 
 " If he comes on Christmas Day, I shall certainly 
 go out." 
 
 " Have you anywhere to go ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then that settles it. You must come and dine 
 at the sad, bad, mad Savoy with Desdemona and 
 Jehane and me and Margot Bligh, and perhaps 
 little Mrs Langshire. We are getting up a con- 
 solation-stakes dinner, and I am to be the only 
 man." 
 
 " Good heavens, what a frost it will be ! " 
 
 " Not at all, miss ! I can pull that sort of thing 
 through. The girls will eat and drink properly 
 for once ; both eyes on their plates instead of one 
 on a man and the other on their own image in the 
 glass opposite ! " 
 
 "Good luck to you, then! If I can come I'll 
 write, nearer the time. Go now, Perry ! She 
 may want me."
 
 234 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 He received my essay in irony in all good faith. 
 " Poor little slavey ! Kept constantly at it, aren't 
 you? I'll go. I say, be an angel and go and see 
 Desdemona. She is at Margot Bligh's — as P.G., 
 you bet. Margot never gives anything for nothing, 
 but it suited Desdy's plans for the moment. I 
 planted her there." 
 
 " Yours, then. Good-bye." 
 
 I used my odious unexpected spell of liberty in 
 Perry's service, and went to the little house in 
 Bayswater a day or two later. 
 
 " And how goes the great work ? " I asked 
 Desdemona, by way of saying the right thing. 
 " You look tremendously excited about something. 
 Don't you wish you were your own public?" 
 
 " Am I flushed ? " asked Desdemona, looking 
 coy. "That is not so much the novel — one is a 
 woman, after all. But with regard to the novel, 
 since you are so kind as to ask after its health, 
 it's very well, and I am correcting the proofs now 
 — at this very moment." She looked portentous. 
 " I was correcting them yesterday — sitting in this 
 very chair — when — when " 
 
 " Get on, little trembler," interposed Margot 
 brusquely. " Get it off your chest. She is trying 
 to tell you, Carrie, with as little circumlocution 
 as is possible to her nature, that your brother 
 Perry came in and reproposed to her, and she 
 had only just time to stick the cruel third chapter 
 we have heard so much of, behind the cushion 
 of the chair ! What do you think of that ? "
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 235 
 
 " He really did, Carrie," purred Desdemona, 
 seeing that I looked incredulous. Proposals 
 meant so much to other people, and so little to 
 Perry. She went on with a confidence that a 
 bond fide proposal alone could give, so I was 
 forced to admit. 
 
 "And as we are now to be sisters-in-law, and 
 Margot here to be my bridesmaid, I see no reason 
 why we should not talk of it all quite openly. So 
 now let me tell you both — it was simply dreadful. 
 Every time I leaned forward, the papers I had 
 got with the proof— the MS., you know — crackled 
 disgracefully, and it made me so shockingly 
 nervous that I am afraid I accepted him most 
 gauchelyr 
 
 " I daresay Perry has been accepted more grace- 
 fully in his time," said I ; " but the great thing was, 
 you were what he wanted most at that moment, 
 and he got you." 
 
 Margot took up the wondrous tale. " She dared 
 not move, do you see ? for fear that the incriminat- 
 ing documents should slip out, and so when Perry 
 put his arms round her she just could not be 
 maidenly and struggle, even if she had wanted to. 
 Most embarrassing, wasn't it ? " 
 
 " Perry is very managing," said I. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by managing," 
 retorted Desdemona, " considering he isn't supposed 
 to know anything about it. I consider he was 
 quite straightforward, and made his amende beauti- 
 fully ; I'll tell you what he said. That he had lately
 
 236 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 come to realise that women are capable of really 
 serious work, and that during our estrangement my 
 horizon had probably enlarged greatly, and that I 
 had acquired wider and perhaps more workable 
 views. He was sure that, at any rate, they were 
 more suitable to the state " 
 
 " To which he was going to call you. It sounds 
 a most truly adequate apology." 
 
 " Yes," said Margot. " And he promised never 
 to make fun of her dear little writings again, and 
 that she might perpetrate a dozen novels a year 
 for all he cared, so long as she didn't insist on his 
 reading them." 
 
 " Oh, Margot, you old story ! " exclaimed the 
 other ; " he said, on the contrary, that he was going 
 to begin to read my new story straight away — and 
 I simply blenched ! " 
 
 " She turned pea-green," declared Margot, " and 
 implored him by all her gods not to do it. And 
 he answered — with obvious relief — that if she 
 preferred it, he wouldn't take any more interest 
 in her business than she would in his, when 
 he was lucky enough to get one, and that 
 wasn't much, he was sure. So now it is all 
 settled." 
 
 " Except the business. I expect Desdemona 
 will have to keep Perry when all is said and done." 
 
 "With this hand and pen. Yes, I will. Won't 
 you kiss me, Carrie ? " 
 
 I obeyed the call of social duty, and then 
 Desdemona sighed and, sitting down, murmured :
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 237 
 
 '• How, now, Carrie, to reconcile Love with 
 Literature ? " 
 
 " You can burn The Man of no Moment^ I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 " What, strangle the child of my brain ! Out of 
 the question ! No, Carrie ; a work once set up is 
 practically born into this troublesome world of 
 reviewers, inevitable — ineluctable — irretrievable ! 
 Only — somehow, it does seem a bit spiteful, now, 
 my portrait of Perry." 
 
 " Oh, I'll forgive you ; and if his sister can forgive 
 you, surely " 
 
 " You haven't read it," wailed Desdemona. " It 
 is practically scarifying an angel — breaking a 
 butterfly upon the wheel. I hit very straight. I 
 don't mince my condemnation. And so, for fear 
 of a possible descent of Perry, I have to correct my 
 proofs in my own bedroom now. Margot gave 
 
 him a latch-key and he comes bouncing in 
 
 Here he is." 
 
 We heard Perry's cheerful voice in the entry, 
 welcoming Margot's mother, who had toddled into 
 the passage to welcome him. 
 
 " I do wish mother wouldn't! " grumbled Margot ; 
 " it does let a house down so. But she is devoted 
 to your brother, and wishes God had made a pair 
 of him for me. But I mean to marry money — or 
 position ! " 
 
 Then began a hulla-baloo ; Perry and Margot 
 seemed like good-humoured terrier dogs, shaking 
 and hustling the frail Desdemona. But she liked
 
 238 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 it. Perry again alluded to the Christmas dinner, 
 but I said there wasn't the slightest chance of my 
 attending it, and, bidding them all adieu, made my 
 way out into the dreary street. 
 
 It was too early to go in. I walked round and 
 round Dampier Square, eyeing the comfortable, 
 warm house I lived in, and the lighted window 
 behind whose curtains I surmised that James was 
 sitting reading aloud to Lady Violet, out of her 
 countess's Memoirs or some kindred work. I felt 
 like a bird that had been kicked out of its nest, 
 a sheep strayed from the fold, while my appointed 
 shepherd piped to an alien and recked not of me. 
 
 But, for a wonder, James was not behind those 
 blinds ; he was not dining with us that night. 
 After the ugly repast was over, Lady Violet drew 
 me aside. 
 
 " Have you anywhere to dine on Christmas 
 Day?" she asked. 
 
 I stared frankly. She and I had eaten our 
 Christmas turkey together for ten years. 
 
 " I suppose you will open your eyes still wider 
 at the piece of intelligence I am going to give you. 
 But you must know it sooner or later. I am going 
 to be married to Colonel James Lisbon on the 
 17th of December, and we shall naturally be away 
 for the honeymoon over Christmas ! " 
 
 Faugh !
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 Perry's dinner-party was very gay. His wedding 
 was fixed for March. In the cloak-room of the 
 gorgeous restaurant where we fed, my future 
 sister-in-law laid feverish hold on me and confided 
 to me her anguish because her wedding and the 
 publication of her book were arranged for the 
 same day. 
 
 "Such an awful sort of double event, isn't it, 
 Carrie? I have implored Perry to defer the 
 marriage till I am tired of begging. The book, 
 do you see ? can't possibly come out till the month 
 of March — even that is too soon for the publish- 
 ing season — and yet I did so want it to be 2. fait 
 acco7npli before the wedding ! Can't you use your 
 influence for me with Perry ? He is so masterful, 
 dear thing ! " 
 
 " I should have thought you could have managed 
 him best." 
 
 " But I have worried him already so much about 
 what he considers a mere whim, that I can't say 
 any more under penalty of getting myself disliked. 
 At last I had to tell him plainly that it was my 
 
 239
 
 240 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 novel that was concerned, and that I was afraid 
 when he had read it that he would not want to 
 marry the author of such a book. But he only 
 said, * Why, was it so very improper ? and that, if 
 that was so, then the sooner he made an honest 
 woman of me the better ! ' I said, ' No, it wasn't 
 in the least improper ' ; and then he asked if it was 
 dull, for that he simply could not forgive." 
 
 " And what did you say to that ? " 
 
 "That I did not think for a moment it was 
 dull — how could it be, so vital, so strong ! — but 
 that sooner than explain the why and the where- 
 fore, I should infinitely prefer to break off the 
 engagement." 
 
 "Oh, I say!" said I, and there being no more 
 to say we went out into the vestibule, where a slim, 
 black, good - tempered Perry rose from the long 
 seat to welcome us. We were the first of his 
 guests to arrive. He knew well enough what we 
 had been talking about. 
 
 " I say, Carrie," he said, " is this beastly novel 
 of Desdy's going to sow dissension between us ? 
 She must publish it, I suppose?" 
 
 " Why, yes, Perry, of course I must publish it. 
 What are you thinking of.? " said the sombre but 
 determined authoress. 
 
 " I am thinking of our poor little future, which, 
 from all I hear, seems to be seriously jeopardised. 
 Well, well, murder and fiction must out, I suppose. 
 It will do Desdy good to get it off her chest, any- 
 way. Fiction is only a form of suppressed gout that
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 241 
 
 women have. However, I have a plan to prevent 
 all the mischief. Whatever comes from Dcsde- 
 mona's pen, past, present, and future, I solemnly 
 vow here, before you, Carrie, as witness, that I 
 won't read it ! " 
 
 Desdemona's face fell, and she murmured dis- 
 contentedly : 
 
 " You are most generous, dear. But then if it 
 is a great success people will tell you the plot, 
 and all about the tendency of the book — and I 
 can't promise that it won't be a great success." 
 
 " God forbid that any work of yours should fall 
 still-born from the press ! But I can look after 
 myself Catch people telling me anything that I 
 don't want to hear ! And perhaps you are a little 
 bit inclined to be pessimistic, dear?" His eyes 
 twinkled. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she said, more sharply 
 than was her wont. 
 
 " It might — I don't like to be too sanguine, 
 neither — it might be a failure after all." 
 
 We went in. The feature and piece dc resistance 
 of the evening was the Langshire couple. Herbert 
 Langshire was himself, only more so, and he had 
 recreated Michelle in his own image. That is the 
 trick such men always do play on their wives. 
 Michelle's neatly-dressed hair, her well-cut, not 
 too striking, gown, her thoroughly un-Carltonish 
 air, suggested the sweet domestic matron of Hans 
 Place out on her sainted task of chaperonage, 
 bent not so much on ornament as on her work of 
 
 Q
 
 242 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 pure ablution round the desperately human shores 
 of fashionable restaurants. 
 
 " You have been with my sister ? " she said to 
 me timidly, for Herbert Langshire appeared to 
 be listening. " I wish you would tell me about 
 her. You know Herbert disapproves ? I can't 
 help it. He won't go there. He doesn't care 
 about the kind of people she has got round her. 
 That awful Mrs Coles — don't you remember ? " 
 
 I mentioned Casimir Livingston. 
 
 " Oh, alas ! he left long ago. We both so wished 
 that Mariuscha's marriage with him could have 
 been arranged. He has plenty of money, don't 
 you know? and was most anxious to marry her. 
 Such a nice, thoroughly suitable person. But 
 Mariuscha seems to get on best with Bohemians, 
 and Herbert detests them. He has never been 
 brought up to that sort of thing, and he won't 
 stay in Mariuscha's house or let me, and Mariuscha 
 never writes. She whisks in to see me sometimes 
 at Hans Place, but then all she says is so 
 flighty — so deconsti — Mariuscha never used to be 
 flighty. She has lost all her nice dignity that 
 used to keep the Bohemians at a safe distance, 
 at any rate. I wish you would go down and 
 stay with her." 
 
 " I can't get away very well." 
 
 "Yes, I know Lady Violet — Lisbon, isn't she, 
 now? She married a man Mariuscha used to 
 know, didn't she? A Bohemian, too?" 
 
 " Oh no," said I emphatically.
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 243 
 
 " Herbert said he was a rotter, or something like 
 that." 
 
 " Only because he has done what Casimir 
 Livingston won't do — he has married money ! " 
 
 " I expect he pays dear for his whistle," said 
 Michelle sagely. "She must be very trying. 
 One has only to look at you, dear Miss Courtenay, 
 to see what a tiresome person she is to live with. 
 Why, you look quite worn. Must you stay with 
 her?" 
 
 " What else can I do ? " 
 
 " Come to me," said Michelle kindly. " I have 
 a nice baby for you to look after, as much as his 
 nurse and father will let you. They look after 
 his body, but I like his mind trained too, and fairy 
 tales told him ; and I am sure you must be very 
 nice with children, aren't you ?" 
 
 " I have never tried." 
 
 " Well, give up your old lady and come and see. 
 I assure you I am very easy to get on with, and 
 I have such a sympathy for you. Poor, dear 
 mother was so fond of you, Carrie — may I call 
 you Carrie ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you want me to cry out loud here in 
 the restaurant." 
 
 " My dear child, you are in a bad way, if a 
 word of kindness upsets you like this ! " Michelle 
 said, genuinely alarmed. " You want looking 
 after. You must be going through some sort of 
 strain ? " 
 
 " I guess I am," I said, taking refuge in an
 
 244 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 Americanism to conventionalise my mood. " I 
 shall be all right. I'll drink some champagne." 
 
 Before we left the table she had made me 
 promise that in case of any unforeseen event cutting 
 short my stay under Lady Violet's roof I would 
 communicate with her, and my day ended under 
 the wing of Herbert Langshire, to whom his kind 
 little wife had signalled a command that he was 
 to play balm in Gilead to me as far as possible 
 during the remainder of the evening. They drove 
 me home, and deposited me with every politeness 
 on Lady Violet's doorstep. The carriage drove 
 away when, and not until, the door had answered 
 to the key. 
 
 The worst of talking over a wounded heart and 
 dwelling on its symptoms is that it encourages 
 them, and I pitied myself exceedingly as I stood 
 alone on the hall mat inside. I was even so 
 absurdly melodramatic as to shake my fist weakly 
 at James's cap hanging on the topmost horn of 
 the antlered-deer-thing in the hall. Then, like an 
 idiot, I wanted to kiss it, so as to expiate my 
 unkindness, but dared not give way to sentiment 
 even before myself. No one was there to laugh 
 at me. There was not a soul in the house but 
 the cook, and she was sound asleep, and Lady 
 Violet and her husband were away on their 
 honeymoon. 
 
 At St Leonards. A week later they were due 
 to come back. Staples had resumed her duties. 
 The house was swept and garnished. The dressing-
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 245 
 
 room where I used to sleep was arranged for James. 
 The bed was very small and uncomfortable, but 
 he could easily hear from it, as I did, Lady Violet's 
 lightest murmur and her heavy ones, too ! I did 
 not suppose he could see to shave in the looking- 
 glass ; I know I could never see to do my hair 
 properly by its aid. 
 
 Staples was intending to give notice and leave. 
 Her sense of biens^ance was outraged by Lady 
 Violet's inappropriate marriage. So was mine, 
 but I did not know whether I could manage to 
 tear myself away from the scene of it. 
 
 I waited for them in the dining-room, staring 
 expectantly out of the window, from habit, I 
 suppose. At last there drove up, not the 
 ordinary four-wheeled cab that I expected, but 
 an ambulance ! 
 
 It was the stalwart bridegroom's task to lift his 
 bride out and over her own threshold. Her head 
 and its senile adornments dangled over his shoulder. 
 But she adored him. I saw her bleared eyes turn 
 to him, as he jolted her the least little bit over the 
 inner doorstep, and I felt quite sick. From my 
 place, squeezed up against the pilaster of the inner 
 hall in an attitude of some sort of welcome, I 
 looked at his face, intent, absorbed as it was in 
 his task. It was lined, his eyes were hollow. He 
 never looked at me. It was wiser not. The 
 cowering disgust in our two glances would have 
 smouldered and burst into a flame. 
 
 " What is it } " I said, in a single second's breath-
 
 246 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 ing time, when Lady Violet had been laid on the 
 couch in the morning room preparatory to the 
 greater effort of getting upstairs. I did not point 
 to the object of my question — he knew. 
 
 " Paralysis ! " he replied, without looking at the 
 woman who questioned him.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 I WAS housekeeper now. The keys were given up 
 to me. The new servants engaged by James were 
 at my orders, and I could see that it was as much 
 as their place was worth to be cheeky to me. 
 James saw to that I was dissociated from all my 
 former duties ; I had no share in the complicated 
 nursing of Lady Violet. But I did odd jobs for 
 him. I was his bench- woman. His orders were 
 as often as not delivered to me through the open 
 door of Lady Violet's bedroom. She had taken 
 a violent dislike to me, as I realised the first time 
 she was sufficiently recovered from the fatigue 
 of her journey to take some of her meals with 
 James and me in the dining-room. She sat in a 
 cleverly improvised reclining chair stuffed with 
 garish cushions, at the side of the table, and 
 refused to take any dish or mess of any sort from 
 my hand — indeed, from any hand but that of 
 James, whose habit of quiet movement and 
 deliberation of speech and manner made him an 
 invaluable nurse. He never fussed, yet he was 
 assiduous. 
 
 To me he was courteous and gentle, as to a 
 
 247
 
 248 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 trusted associate in some great work. The style, 
 the perfection of his manner should have disarmed 
 me, if anything could have done so. When he 
 raised his eyes to me, which was not often — James 
 carefully husbanded his resources in the way of 
 appeal — they expressed everything, and a great 
 deal more than I was willing to understand. That 
 was it. I could not receive their message. I 
 closed my intelligence to what I was pleased to 
 consider my lover's humiliation. My one idea 
 was to rub it "in" to him. He had married 
 this old lady — very well, therefore he must pretend 
 to love her ! I strove at every turn to show him 
 that this childish interpretation was the one, and 
 the only one, I put on his action. I felt as if I 
 could only salve my own wound by placing him 
 in a ridiculous light. 
 
 During these six months I employed treasures 
 of strategy ; I instituted the most complicated 
 manoeuvres in order to avoid being left alone for 
 a single moment in his company. I believe it 
 "took my mind off," as the old women say. It 
 was not easy. I lived a great deal in my own 
 room, a large room over the floor where Lady 
 Violet's apartment and James's dressing - room 
 that adjoined it, were situated. He slept there 
 when he really went to bed, but on a great many 
 nights I am convinced he lay down in his clothes 
 merely on the sofa in his wife's room. That was 
 when she had an attack. But even on the off- 
 nights, it is my belief that he never got what is
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 249 
 
 called a good night's rest. I used to hear sounds 
 as I lay awake, sounds as of doors opening and 
 shutting, of water being poured out. . . . She would 
 not have a nurse, and it was his duty to carry out 
 the doctor's instructions, to affix, I know not what 
 horrible plasters, to perform I would not allow 
 myself to guess what loathsome ministrations. 
 Poor James — the dandy, the exquisite! He had 
 sold himself into one of the lowest forms of 
 slavery. 
 
 There was one thing I could not help noticing : 
 his nights of broken rest did him no obvious 
 harm. The beauty of this caitiff, as I was pleased 
 to call him in my thoughts, seemed to increase 
 daily. His grey and plentiful hair, that had been 
 admirable before, was none the less becoming in 
 that it grew white and crowned a head that might 
 have served a painter for the model of a monk of 
 old, one of those handsome, slightly Jesuitical types 
 of churchman that artists have always loved to 
 work from and use as types of religious asceticism. 
 Sometimes his smile, weary, thin - lipped, long- 
 suffering, made me, hard as I am, want to go away 
 and cry by myself, or else fling myself at his feet 
 and crave his pardon for having doubted him. 
 
 For I love an honest fulfiller of vows. And 
 surely whatever advantage accrued to him through 
 his alliance with Lady Violet, he certainly kept 
 his side of the bargain, and gave her full measure, 
 pressed down and full to overflowing. His capable 
 nursing, old Jenkins said, undoubtedly kept Lady
 
 250 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 Violet alive, and as a result of his husbandry care, 
 it was quite on the cards that she mitjht live for 
 years ! 
 
 I really did not know what to think. 
 
 Perhaps this life that he led fulfilled every need 
 of his cold, fishy nature. It must be a cold nature, 
 in spite of his eyes. And as a companion Lady 
 Violet was very much improved, and did not say 
 half as many disagreeable things as she used to 
 do. Her gratitude and devotion towards him were 
 pathetic and painful to see. Her bleared, watery 
 eyes, awkward of perception, fixed on him, made 
 me feel sick — with jealousy ? Surely not ? No, 
 it must have been the grotesqueness, the unseemli- 
 ness of it all that shocked me so. She was most 
 equable over accounts, and generous about her 
 money, and gave him presently, as I learned, the 
 whole direction of her finances. She even made 
 the bulk of it over to him, I believe, to avoid his 
 paying any legacy duty. She permitted, nay, 
 enjoined, that he should spend the interest of it 
 freely. He went to a good tailor — an awfully 
 good tailor, so it seemed to me, but perhaps it 
 was the effect of his remarkably well-proportioned 
 figure — and he smoked the finest cigars, and plenty 
 of them. He might have brought anybody he 
 liked to the house and entertained them royally, 
 but he did not seem to care to bring friends in. 
 I was not surprised at that : why invite witnesses 
 of a state of things that did him no honour and 
 justified all the unkind things people like Margot
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 251 
 
 Bligh had said of him? He belonged to two 
 expensive clubs, however, and went to one or the 
 other of them for an hour or so every day ; at 
 least, I gathered that he did so. He did not 
 neglect his bodily health, either, but played golf 
 on Saturdays at Wimbledon and swam every 
 day at six. 
 
 I think Margot Bligh would have given him 
 away if this had been otherwise. She was the 
 only person from the outer world that I saw 
 occasionally, and she was the person I liked 
 least. That is generally the way. I was too 
 bitter to enjoy the society of any one whom I 
 did not despise, and that is the truth of it ! 
 Margot was like the acid cordial that screws up 
 your mouth with distaste, and which you tolerate 
 when sweetness would disgust you. She kept me 
 up more or less in the outside doings of the third 
 inmate of our prison house in Dampier Square, 
 and the scandal of which Margot was unaware 
 did not exist ! 
 
 I did not go out very much. A forced member 
 of this dreadful triumvirate, I grew to coherence 
 with it ; it fascinated me, my whole life was there. 
 Nothing outside of it interested me — it came to 
 that ; and I think I should have gone mad if I 
 had not pulled myself together one day and sought 
 James for the first time, in his smart smoking-room 
 that Lady Violet had had arranged for him. 
 
 He turned round in his swivel chair, with the 
 smile of an archangel on his face.
 
 252 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " So, Carrie, you have come at last ?" he said. 
 
 " I have come to give notice." 
 
 " You dear, funny Httle thing ! " 
 
 "You must not speak Hke that." 
 
 " Big thing, then. Certainly you have got a 
 tremendous lot of dignity lately. You are twice 
 the woman you were ! " 
 
 It was a sign of my terribly over-wrought 
 condition that I did not resent this free way of 
 speaking ; it seemed to me so utterly by the way, 
 just a sign of how irremediably James and I 
 had drifted on to different planes. 
 
 " Will you convey my decision to Lady Violet 
 Lisbon?" I said clearly; and he frowned, then. 
 
 " It should be j^ou that bears my name," he said. 
 " Oh, Carrie, you have no idea how you hurt me ! " 
 
 " Do I .? I am sorry." 
 
 " How like you, dear — not to launch out into 
 recrimination and tell me how I have hurt you 
 and that sort of maudlin, sloppy reproach. . . 
 Stop, Carrie, you are not going " 
 
 " You were talking quite beside the subject, I 
 thought." 
 
 " I was drivelling, in fact," said he, flushing. 
 " Well, you are not very nice to me, but I suppose 
 I deserve it. And now I suppose you want a 
 cheque ? " 
 
 " In due course," I answered. 
 
 •' I'll write it now." 
 
 " Very well. Up to date, then, if you please ; 
 understand I wish to go to-morrow."
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 253 
 
 ** No ; you can't do it like that. You must 
 have your month's wages, whether you go to- 
 morrow or at the end of the month ; I insist on it." 
 
 " That keeps me here, against my will." 
 
 " I intended it so." 
 
 " Because I cannot accept money I have not 
 worked for, or favours from you and your wife," 
 I said gently. 
 
 " Settle it as you please," he said, revolving on 
 the swivel chair with an air of finality. James 
 had a temper. 
 
 I stayed the month out. What else could I 
 do ? And I had literally nowhere to go to. I 
 had spoken without book, I had leaped without 
 looking, in my pain. For it was pain, that is 
 all I will say. I wrote to Michelle Langshire, 
 hardly expecting her to adhere to her kind offer 
 of some few months ago. 
 
 She did, though. She wired back to me — a 
 sweet, effusive, expensive telegram, bidding me 
 come to her at once. 
 
 But I waited my month. I don't believe poor 
 Lady Violet even realised that I was going. 
 She said good-bye to me as if I were going for 
 a walk. She was further gone than I thought. 
 James would soon come into his own. 
 
 This was in the afternoon of the day pre- 
 ceding my departure. I retired early. James put 
 his wife to bed as usual. About eleven o'clock, 
 when he was " through " with her, he came to 
 the door of my room and knocked.
 
 254 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 I rose and opened it ; I had not expected to 
 see him, but a maid, but I stood to it, and did 
 not run away. 
 
 " Carrie," he said, " bar chaff and listen to me. 
 I have never, so far, taken the right way with 
 you, I see that now. I don't think you under- 
 stand that when a man is in a hole, when any 
 explanation one cares to give is inadequate and 
 a full one indecent and unfair to other people, 
 a man fights shy of both and takes refuge in — 
 phrases ! You ought to have seen without being 
 told. But you didn't. We have been at cross 
 purposes for more than a year. It has been 
 hell. The result of your — stupidity, let us call 
 it ! But now, if you will give me leave — if you 
 will put something on and come quietly down 
 into the drawing-room, and speak to me, I believe 
 I can put things before you quite clearly, and 
 Carrie, darling, I feel convinced that when I 
 have done you will agree with me, that I have 
 all through steered our ship well — taken the 
 only course possible." 
 
 I pulled my nightgown close round me and 
 said — what I could not help saying : 
 
 " I might agree with you — yes, if I heard 
 your story, but — I will never allow you to tell 
 it me ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 The first day I had free at Mrs Langshire's I 
 spent in going to see my new sister-in-law in her 
 new house at St John's Wood. 
 
 " Oh, Carrie, you were always such an angel to 
 me ; I can't bear to think of you a mere nursery 
 governess. Come here and I'll manage to fake up 
 a room for you till you have made it up with Lady 
 Violet. It would really look better " 
 
 "And feel better," I admitted. I didn't mind 
 her explicit statement of the grounds of her 
 charity ; I knew I hadn't been such an angel to 
 her in the past, so things were even. " But I like 
 the baby " 
 
 "Well, stay by all means if it fulfils every need 
 of your soul, but I wish for my own sake, Carrie, 
 you had been here with me at first. A third 
 person would have helped the awkwardness and 
 tided me over a pretty awkward time." 
 
 " The strong novel again ! " I ejaculated. 
 
 " Yes, the stupendous novel ; and, Carrie, it isn't 
 the stupendous novel's fault if I didn't lose my 
 husband's love at the very outset of our married 
 life." She lay back in her chair and covered her 
 
 255
 
 256 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 face with her hands. " Only think, clear — we met 
 it on a bookstall on our very way back from 
 Harrogate ! " 
 
 " Met what ? " 
 
 " The Man of no Moment:' 
 
 " What odds, so long as you had the Man of 
 Moment along with you ? " 
 
 " Oh, you are flippant in great moments, just like 
 Perry," she wailed. " Listen. It was all brand-new 
 and piping hot, with my name as large as life in 
 white paint on the red cover. Of course, it's red — 
 they always seem to bind strong books in red. I 
 simply shook, and a sympathetic guard at once 
 rushed to get me a foot-warmer. Perry sighted 
 the book at once — it was given a rather prominent 
 place on the stall — and wanted to buy me a copy 
 — two copies ! I luckily succeeded in putting him 
 off that idea, but it was merely staving off destiny, 
 after all. There were half a dozen, with the 
 publisher's compliments, waiting for me at home ! " 
 
 " What did you do, you poor thing?" 
 
 " Nothing, till after dinner. Then at the psycho- 
 logical moment when we were sitting in the dear 
 little new drawing-room with coffee and cigars, I 
 opened the parcel at last. It made a horrid, 
 portentous crackling, and Perry scolded me ! " 
 
 " What, already ? " 
 
 " Poor boy ! he was to the full as nervous as I 
 was, don't you see ? I took out a copy, and cut 
 it slowly, and then offered to read it aloud to him ; 
 that would be my expiation, I thought ! "
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 257 
 
 "Yes, but what had he done?" 
 
 " He was thoughtful and considerate, and 
 suggested that I must be too tired and sleepy, 
 and he gave me a hundred other ichappatoires ; 
 but I said, ' Perico — I call him Perico in certain 
 moods — Perico, I must have this thing off my 
 mind, it is unhinging your poor Desdy's brain. 
 If you come to hate and detest your wife after 
 she has made a clean breast of it, well, it can't 
 be helped. I shall, at any rate, have been honest, 
 and you have always said you valued my limpid 
 sincerity, Perico mine ! ' " 
 
 " Perry hates inartistic, truthful women, didn't 
 you know? Well, what line did he take?" 
 
 " He grunted like a husband, every inch of him, 
 and said it was to be as I wished, and he would 
 kiss me well over first, in case he didn't feel like 
 it afterwards. Isn't that just like Perry? So I 
 put him into the best new armchair — Jehane's 
 present — and placed my own face as much in the 
 shadow as I could, and then poked up the fire 
 for him. The poor innocent wanted to know if I 
 could possibly see to read, there in the dark. As 
 if I didn't know it all by heart ! Every word of 
 it is burnt into my soul in letters of fire ! I 
 wondered now how I ever could have been such 
 a beast as to do it ! I opened the book at the 
 first chapter, feeling turned to stone, and just 
 before I began I said to Perry, ' Good - bye, 
 darling!' — sacramentally, don't you know?" 
 
 "Perry giggled, I bet?" 
 
 R
 
 258 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 "Not at all. He murmured, quite sweetly, 
 ' Good night, you mean ! ' and settled himself 
 down in the chair and told me to ' Fire away ! ' 
 So I began, gabbling it all rather at first, so as 
 to somewhat obscure the terrible main issue ; but 
 there, you know, Carrie, one is an artist after 
 
 all " 
 
 " To the finger-tips— yes. Well ? " 
 " I began insensibly to make points, to read with 
 effect, to bring out the values, don't you know? 
 it was impossible to me not to do so — and so I 
 went on, for the best part of an hour, reading for 
 all I was worth and enjoying it, but never once 
 daring to look at Perry. If only I had, I should 
 have avoided being made to look a leetle ridiculous. 
 But on I went. . . . Oh, if only I were a comic 
 artist, which, thank God, I'm not, what a telling 
 scene it would have made ! I heard a funny little 
 sound at last — one I have heard before ; most of 
 us have, I fancy," added poor Desdemona ruefully. 
 " That enlightened me. I did venture to timidly 
 raise my head, and look at my dear husband " 
 
 She covered her face with her hands and actually 
 laughed. Desdemona is less of a goose than I 
 thought. Marriage does de-sentimentalise ! 
 
 " The Man of the Moment was fast asleep, I 
 apprehend ? " 
 
 She nodded. " Even so. Not very flattering, 
 was it ? But I fancy some of my nervous excite- 
 ment had communicated itself to him, through his 
 intense power of sympathy with me, and produced
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 259 
 
 nervous exhaustion, and so forth. That is how I 
 account for it. And I have one consolation : now 
 he will never realise his misguided wife's crime, 
 committed in a moment of aberration, it is true. 
 He had left me, it might almost be counted a crime 
 passionel"!' 
 
 " A French jury would certainly so have 
 esteemed it. How is it going, anyway?" 
 
 " Reading very well, Mudie's man tells me. And 
 dear old Jehane has managed to get it for review 
 on her new organ." 
 
 " Hullo ! Is Jehane married, too 1 " 
 
 " Oh, that old joke ! " Desdemona laughed. She 
 is decidedly growing a sense of humour. " Not 
 conventionally — no orange blossoms ; but all I 
 know is that she talks as if she was bound hand 
 and foot to that new Liberal paper — what's its 
 name? She says the editor — I forget who he is 
 — has insisted on her throwing over the old 
 Lightning Conductor for him, that paper she used 
 to swear by ! " 
 
 " I hope, at least, he has given her an engagement 
 ring." 
 
 " An agreement, you mean ? Oh yes ; Jehane 
 is a splendid woman of business, and leaves no 
 loopholes for possible breach of literary promise. 
 She will never marry, in the ordinary way, that 
 girl ! And, Carrie, listen — I have found out some- 
 thing about her, the truth about a fact that used 
 to upset me a good deal. She says she never was 
 really engaged to Perry."
 
 26o A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " Jehane is a lady." 
 
 " Oh, you mean she was engaged to my husband ? " 
 
 " I mean she is a lady, and ladies always throw 
 dust in people's eyes about the men that liked 
 them." 
 
 " According to you, then, to be a lady is to be 
 a liar," said Desdemona sharply. She was still 
 a little jealous of Jehane. My brother's wife was 
 a sweet woman — that is to say, a woman without 
 a fibre of manly generosity. But even so she 
 made him a far better wife than the other, and 
 Perry knew it ; he had exercised his judgment, as 
 most men do, on the most important problem of 
 a life partner. Jehane was not of the stuff of 
 which workaday wives are made. 
 
 Perry came in on this aimless discussion, kissed 
 me, and told me something that set my whole soul 
 on fire, in that careless way of his. 
 
 " We saw Langshire's spirited sister-in-law at 
 the play last night," he said. " Didn't Desdy tell 
 you? Looking fine. With a man — your old 
 woman's dastard husband." 
 
 " Don't, Perry ; Carrie has got quite a soft place 
 in her heart for him, I do believe," said Desdemona 
 " He certainly is diabolically good-looking." 
 
 " He was always quite nice to me," said I sturdily. 
 " And I am sure I must often have been dreadfully 
 in the way." 
 
 " Come, Carrie, you are not going to make out 
 that he wanted to spoon the old woman," said 
 Perry coarsely — one's relations are coarse. " That
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 261 
 
 was a marriage of interest, pure and simple. I 
 expect he was only too glad to see something 
 young and pretty about the house." 
 
 "Carrie means," said Desdemona with perspicuity, 
 " that he behaved nicely to her, not trying to kiss 
 her behind doors, and that sort of thing. Still, I 
 can quite understand her wanting to leave, for, as 
 I said before, the man is most awfully good-looking, 
 and Carrie is nothing if not proper " 
 
 I couldn't stand any more of this sort of talk. 
 I got up and went. I quite expected to see 
 Mariuscha at Hans Place some time that evening ; 
 she would probably dine there and go back to her 
 club to sleep. She generally combined a theatre 
 with a visit to her sister. 
 
 She was there. And I did not, somehow, feel 
 fond of her ; I did not like her hat. I always 
 think deterioration in style shows first of all in 
 a woman's choice of hats. Still, I gave her no 
 cause to suppose I was " down " on her, and she 
 repeatedly begged me to come down to her at 
 Hardman for an unlimited visit. 
 
 " Do lend me Carrie, Mich'. I want her." 
 
 "Carrie can go if she likes," said Michelle, 
 secretly delighted. 
 
 But I demurred. I was out of love with 
 Mariuscha, and I adored Michelle's child. " You 
 have got dear Mrs Coles," I said. 
 
 " Oh, I don't want you as a chaperon," said 
 Mariuscha quickly ; " I've put an end to all that 
 sort of nonsense. I have enough money to do
 
 262 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 without a chaperon. But I like Carrie and her 
 strong style of moral support ; and there's a man 
 coming she knows, and she could help me to deal 
 with him." She laughed, not very pleasantly. 
 
 "Oh, Mush' dear, who is it? Who have you 
 got now? Herbert says you do pick up such 
 odd people." 
 
 " This is a steady, staid, sensible man," announced 
 Mariuscha, enjoying it. " He has got enough to 
 sober him ! A wife about a hundred years old. 
 He has made great sacrifices for money — just as 
 I have " 
 
 " Colonel Lisbon," said I quickly. 
 
 "Just so. How quick you are, Carrie ! Though 
 I suppose his case is rather exceptional. I have 
 never seen Lady Violet Lisbon, but, judging from 
 all accounts, she must be a terror." 
 
 " Does he abuse his wife to you ? " I asked. 
 
 "No gentleman would; eh, Carrie? Is he a 
 gentleman ? You ought to know ; you were in the 
 house with him for a long time — as long as you 
 could stand it, apparently. He said you were a 
 dear, little demure thing — he quite remembered 
 you." 
 
 "But, Mush'," at last Michelle interposed— she 
 had been trying for a long time to get a word 
 in — " but, Mush', it really isn't quite nice if he is 
 — he appears to be a married man ? " 
 
 " Not very much married," said Mariuscha. " He 
 has all his evenings out." 
 
 How common she had grown ! I hated her
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 263 
 
 manner. So did poor Michelle, who feebly con- 
 tinued to protest : 
 
 " Darling Mush', trntst you go about with him ? 
 It looks so bad. I shall have to tell Herbert, and 
 Herbert will so dislike it — I " 
 
 " I can't help it. He amuses me," said Mariuscha. 
 She was trying to tease. " Very few men do now. 
 He's like me in a great many respects. He's 
 reckless, like me ; his life's spoilt, like mine ! He's 
 quite a pal ! We went to the theatre together 
 last night " 
 
 " Oh, but, Mush', it's bad enough to go about 
 with him in London, but I'm sure Herbert 
 wouldn't even dislike that so much as your asking 
 a man like that to stay with you in your country 
 house alone — except with Mrs Coles, and Herbert 
 has always disapproved of her ! " 
 
 "Well, then, why doesn't Herbert let my own 
 sister come and stay with me ? It is his own 
 fault that I am thrown back on Mrs Coles and 
 her like, who are glad enough to come whenever 
 they are asked, and don't fuss me. Mrs Coles is 
 used to deal with brainey men, casual women, 
 and odd-come-shorts of every sort. She is a big 
 woman, and can chuck them out if necessary " 
 
 " I'll come to you, Mariuscha," said I suddenly ; 
 " if Mich' will give me leave."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 Hardman Hall, in the early April sunlight, 
 looked just as usual, ancient and feudal and 
 dignified. The little, shy, reserved orchard on 
 the east, with its carpet of daffodils, was quite 
 ready for Melisande and her knight to walk in, 
 but from the other side of the house, Yahoo- 
 like shrieks proceeded, and suggested Margate 
 sands rather than a mediaeval garden of peace. 
 I had not walked, for, although Mariuscha had 
 not come to meet me herself — she never walked 
 — she had sent a conveyance ; she kept horses 
 and motors now to convey her numerous house- 
 parties to and fro. The eldritch noises I heard 
 issued presumably from the mouths of the house- 
 party — the sort of people who were only too 
 glad to batten upon the hospitality of this socially 
 ostracised young woman. They came from town. 
 The country was stone to her. The frowning 
 towers of Lord Lathbury's place could be seen 
 in the distance ; Sir George Gunter brought up a 
 large family of irreproachable sons and daughters 
 within a stone's throw of Miss Mary Hardman's 
 
 domain. That was her name now. But they 
 
 264
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 265 
 
 would not have known what to say to the guests 
 gathered round her by the despised one, the 
 men that shouted and the women that squeaked, 
 the people with pasts and no futures. 
 
 I came across Mariuscha herself in the walled 
 garden lying in a hammock — it was prematurely 
 warm and fine weather for April. Mrs Coles 
 lay in another, and raised an ill -dressed head 
 at my approach. 
 
 " How do you do, dear ? Tell me, am I showing 
 my frillies too much ? The men will be here in a 
 minute." 
 
 " Not enough," I said politely ; " they are so 
 superb." 
 
 Cheap thread lace resting on black button 
 boots — an effect I detest ! Another wild shriek 
 was heard ! Mariuscha did not raise her head. 
 Mrs Coles bobbed up. 
 
 " That's George Grant, I know ! " 
 
 " What are they all doing ? " I asked. 
 
 "Trying to catch the old pike that lives in 
 the moat," said Mariuscha. "It eats everything 
 else, and is a horrid nuisance. When they miss 
 him they shriek. They have missed him every 
 time as yet." 
 
 I looked through a narrow slit in the wall, and 
 observed the fishermen. There they were — men, 
 very young men, in dulled flannels and faded 
 blazers, all except Colonel Lisbon, and he was 
 dressed a little older than the others, but very 
 fresh and smart — Lady Violet's bounty ! He
 
 266 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 was lying on his stomach in the green sward 
 of the bank, ardently preparing a snare for the 
 pike, the liveliest, the gayest of the gay. A 
 young malapert boy, whom I supposed to be 
 George Grant, the dispossessed, was abetting 
 him. I did not see Casimir Livingston ; he was 
 probably not there. I couldn't imagine him 
 having a word to say to any one of them. 
 
 Mrs Coles entertained me. I suppose that 
 was what she was there for. Mariuscha never 
 pretended to entertain any one. 
 
 " This is a charming place, isn't it ? " she piped. 
 There was no contradicting her. " I can't tear 
 myself away from it. Dear Mariuscha has been 
 very kind ; she has allowed me to send for my 
 belongings. Big Babsie and Wee Oneie both say 
 they mean to stay here for ever. Blear-eyed, 
 broken-down roues of London — no wonder that 
 they love it ! . . . Oh, Miss Courtenay, fancy ! 
 I have heard the nightingale for the first time — 
 last night. We make up select parties of two 
 to the coppice, taking a bottle of champagne with 
 us for a third. Big Babsie and I, Mariuscha and 
 Colonel Lisbon, Margot Bligh and her R.A. " 
 
 " Has Margot got a real live R.A. in tow?" 
 
 " Yes ; and the affair's coming on very nicely 
 under everybody's kind fostering. He's not a very 
 young one ; he'll be retiring soon, but, anyhow, he 
 can look after her ' pics.' well, and she says she 
 feels she could marry a literal Methusalem in the 
 cause of Art. Dear, happy-natured girl ! she is
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 267 
 
 painting Wee Oneie now — she is most happy with 
 children's portraits. Why don't you take your 
 hat off, Miss Courtenay, dear?" 
 
 I misunderstood her, " Oh, dear, must I go in ? 
 It is so nice out here." 
 
 " Oh, here we never wear hats out of doors, 
 only for afternoon tea in the house, you know ; 
 that's the latest." 
 
 " When the county comes to call, eh ? " I 
 said spitefully. I liked to get rises out of The 
 Coles, and Mariuscha wasn't listening. 
 
 "It doesn't, my dear; we are boycotted, but 
 we don't mind. We just bring our social stuff 
 down from town as we import our caviare and 
 pate, don't you know ? And, as a matter of fact, 
 there's nothing so dull as county society." 
 
 " Especially when you can't get it for love or 
 money," put in Mariuscha suddenly. " Carrie, is 
 Michelle coming to me or not?" 
 
 I tried to doctor Michelle's expressed attitude 
 with regard to her sister's house-parties into a 
 semblance of polite negation. I was dying to 
 fight Mrs Coles, so I murmured something about 
 Michelle's "flood of engagements — a constant 
 rush " 
 
 " Where there's a will, there's always a back- 
 water on the stream of London life," said that 
 odious creature. " I cannot stand people giving 
 themselves airs of being indispensable to the 
 London season like that." 
 
 " We are not indispensable, it seems, at any
 
 268 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 rate," said Mariuscha, languidly throwing her long 
 legs out of the hammock. She was imitated in 
 this gesture, clumsily, by Mrs Coles. 
 
 " Here comes the pikesters!" the latter exclaimed, 
 " and Big Babsie ! Doesn't he look triumphant ? 
 Miss Courtenay, let me introduce you to my 
 husband." 
 
 I had thought Big Babsie was her baby, but 
 it was no matter. Colonel Lisbon strode up, 
 negligently, and shook hands with me, and I 
 asked after his wife. What else could I do? 
 And the mere juxtaposition of Mrs Coles spurred 
 me to conventionality. Her eye was on me, and 
 on Mariuscha's new "boy." Not so that of 
 Mariuscha ; she scorned, and always had scorned, 
 to watch her own propert}'. Then Margot Bligh 
 and her R.A. issued forth from the coppice ; they 
 appeared to have been listening to nightingales 
 in the daytime. He was senile, but looked quite 
 good — the only unsophisticated person here. The 
 boy that pinched me came last, hot and filthy 
 with green slime ; he had been " in," or nearly so. 
 
 If this was the rightful heir, I did not wish to 
 see Mariuscha dispossessed in favour of him, for a 
 more unprepossessing being surely did not exist. 
 The lowness of his type impressed one at once — 
 and his obvious devotion to the lady who had 
 cut him out. Indeed, I found that he openly 
 proclaimed it, and had eagerly accepted her 
 invitation to spend his Easter holidays with her. 
 
 " If that isn't low, I wonder what is ? " I asked
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 269 
 
 Margot later, when I got a word with her before 
 dinner. 
 
 " I don't know ; he may as well take what he 
 can get. His people were glad enough to allow 
 the boy to come here for his holidays, and then, 
 of course, boy-like, calf-like, he went and fell in 
 love with the monster who had cut him out. He's 
 seventeen. Well, who knows ? she is only twenty- 
 five, and stranger things than that have happened!" 
 " I should earnestly hope he would die first. He 
 looks as if he had water on the brain." 
 
 " You have never forgiven him that pinch, 
 Carrie ; what a revengeful little body you are ! 
 I have heard of it from Lisbon. He was talking 
 of it only the other day. I say, don't you think 
 Mr Philipson has a grand head ? " 
 
 " Yes ; save models for the Elders when you are 
 married," said I, escaping. 
 
 She would talk of nothing but Mr Philipson, 
 and I was just as selfish as she. I wanted to talk 
 only of James, for whom my fainting love had 
 somewhat strangely revived now that my rival 
 was a young and beautiful woman. Was this 
 disgraceful or no 7 There was nothing to disgust, 
 though much to distress, in the sight of him 
 constantly at the side of a Mariuscha. 
 
 There was nathing small about her, or the way 
 she did things. She did not flirt ; she simply took 
 him over. The indecisions, the small amenities 
 with which most women shield and cloak their 
 predilections, were not for her. After dinner she
 
 270 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 and he were the first to step over the sill of the 
 French window of the dining-room on their blithe 
 way to the wood ; the fling of her lace scarf, as 
 she cast it over her splendid shoulders, was a 
 defiance to who sought to check her, an invita- 
 tion to those who cared to imitate her frank 
 indulgence of her will. Everybody did follow 
 her — even George Grant, at a respectful distance, 
 and without a partner. Mrs Coles and I were 
 left sole tenants of the drawing - room. She 
 " dreaded the night air," and wanted to talk to 
 me — i.e., to work off some burning scandals on 
 my defenceless ears. 
 
 With some wretched white work on my knee, 
 I sat near the open window, listening to the silvery 
 sighing of the night wind in some aspens near 
 the house, and picturing Mariuscha and James 
 Lisbon in each other's arms, perhaps. Who 
 knows ? Mariuscha, with her well-known theories 
 of the relations between the sexes, her fearless, 
 frank indulgence of her whims, would think no 
 harm ; and now that the application of those 
 theories touched me so closely, I detested them. 
 I could not pretend that I was merely vicariously 
 distressed in Lady Violet's interest, as I should 
 have wished to — that would have been hypocrisy. 
 Lady Violet was not " on " in this drama of three 
 at all. I was the forsaken one, and James for- 
 sworn to me. 
 
 " Is it wise to sit so near the window } " Mrs 
 Coles kept on saying.
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 271 
 
 " Wise — no ; who said it was wise ? " I repeated 
 mechanically. 
 
 ** Do you care about hearing the nightingale, 
 really ? I do think him a most over-rated bird, 
 only useful for an excuse for lovers to get out and 
 away from chaperons. Mariuscha is having a good 
 time with Lisbon, isn't she?" 
 
 " But isn't he a married man, Mrs Coles ? " said 
 I, with a sad affectation of prudery. 
 
 " Oh, well, we all know what that marriage 
 amounts to ! He leaves his old woman of the 
 sea conveniently at home, and goes away and has 
 a good time among the girls, and small blame to 
 him ! " 
 
 " Lady Violet likes him to amuse himself," said 
 I, stung to the defence of my late mistress. " She 
 hates him to be tied to her sick-bed, and is — 
 was, I mean — always egging him on to get some 
 exercise — golf and fencing. . . ," 
 
 " This isn't golf — quite." 
 
 " It's out of doors, anyway. And now, if you 
 don't mind, I will go to bed." 
 
 " Nobody ever goes to bed here ; at least, I mean 
 there is no hard and fast line. They say that 
 Mariuscha often curls up on that sofa there and 
 forgets to go to her own room at all. This is 
 Liberty Hall, you know. People are flying about 
 the passages all night. One needs a smart 
 peignoir, I can tell you." 
 
 " Ah, well, I haven't such a thing, so I will get 
 myself safely stowed, I think. Good night ! "
 
 272 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 I didn't go to my room after all ; I felt far too 
 restless and miserable. I went to Margot's, and 
 waited for her to come up. I thought I could 
 appreciate even Margot's conversation after Mrs 
 Coles'. It would, at least, be chaster. 
 
 And I had come down a sort of accredited 
 messenger from Michelle, to see if I could "save" 
 Mariuscha from this ? Ridiculous ! I was neither 
 here nor there ; I believe I had imagined arrogantly 
 that the sight of me in the house where our first 
 meeting took place would unman my lover, that 
 the intrusion of the old love would shake and 
 unseat him in his pursuit of the new ! I had 
 nothing to do but go home again ! They were 
 both far too cynical to be affected by anything 
 I could do or say ; he seemed to accept my 
 presence there, if anything, as an agreeable 
 incident, and if it did worry him, he took 
 good care that Mariuscha should not apprehend 
 the fact. 
 
 Margot dashed in and seized my hands. 
 
 " Dear old Carrie ! I do really think he's smitten 
 to some purpose," she said. " Another good week 
 will do it ; and Mariuscha is such a brick that she'll 
 not turn me out till I have done the trick. Then, 
 just think ! I'll have a picture on the line every 
 year, and perhaps end as a Lady Academician — 
 the first since Kauffman ! It will have to come, 
 and why should it not be me ? Heigh ho ! It is 
 exhausting, though ! Mariuscha goes it, doesn't 
 she ? "
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 273 
 
 "What a crew!" said I. 1 could not bear to 
 talk any more of Mariuscha. 
 
 " Excepting my R.A., yes. That odious, good- 
 looking James Lisbon flirting away for all he's 
 worth, and drawing pay from home all the time ! 
 Lady Violet dresses him nicely, doesn't she? I 
 saw his dressing-case, gold-mounted, the best that 
 money can buy ; and, oh, his dreams of waistcoats ! 
 I like the one he had on to-day, didn't you? He 
 wears his clothes well. I should think his tailor 
 loves him ; it isn't every man who has a good 
 figure can afford to pay, too ! My man's get-up 
 wants seeing to ; he is, every ill-dressed inch of 
 him, an artist." 
 
 " You can see to that, eventually." 
 
 " Suppose I shall have to if I am ever Mrs R.A." 
 She yawned. " Do go, Carrie ; I'm half asleep, and 
 you look as if you hadn't slept for a month. How 
 are your affairs going ? Ferrars seemed very 
 devoted, I thought, last time you were here." 
 
 " Oh, he proposed," I said carelessly, with a dreary 
 enjoyment of Margot's certain surprise. "Good 
 night ! " 
 
 I had honestly tried to accept Dr Ferrars, but 
 Colonel Lisbon had, as usual, stood in the way. 
 I supposed he always would. How could I get 
 him out of my life ? I met him in the passage : I 
 was not surprised. I felt I should, especially after 
 what Mrs Coles had said. Under the light of the 
 gas globe, his hair looked quite white. As usual, 
 his eyes appealed ; they appealed well, but I was 
 
 S
 
 274 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 frozen into a mood that had lasted several years 
 now. It was hardly worth while to change it. 
 
 Yet he said: "Darling!" and "Don't make a 
 mistake. . . ." and was continuing earnestly, but I 
 interrupted : 
 
 " I am not making a mistake — I am not making 
 anything. I am determined not — I won't speak 
 to you at all." 
 
 " Don't, then ! " he said bitterly. " I have been 
 talking to Mariuscha in her room." 
 
 Why he chose to leave me with that challenge I 
 could not divine, until Mariuscha, opening the door 
 of her boudoir as I passed, and beckoning me in, 
 told me. 
 
 She never minced words. She stood in the 
 midst of the ascetic Beam Room, in beautiful 
 flowing draperies, and asked me point blank : 
 
 " Is that man yours, Carrie ? " 
 
 " He was mine, and now he is Lady Violet's." 
 
 " Pooh! Lady Violet doesn't count" — she flipped 
 her fingers sharply — " but you do ... . Carrie 
 .... I wonder what you are thinking of me?" 
 
 " I cannot think, Mariuscha, I am too miserable." 
 
 " I thought so. Poor girl ! . . . Carrie, listen — 
 he is going to-morrow. On my word. And now, 
 tell me, did my sister Michelle set you on to watch 
 me?" 
 
 " I shouldn't allow myself to be set on. No, I 
 came here — on my own account, just to make 
 myself suffer a little more, I suppose." 
 
 " What fools you women are ! " said Mariuscha,
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 275 
 
 sinking into a chair. " Do sit down too, Carrie. 
 You'd be shocked if I smoked, I suppose? But 
 I will. I'm done. Can't sleep ! I never go to bed, 
 hardly. I say yoii woJiien, for I grew out of all 
 that long since, and laid aside all rotten womanish 
 things. Look at me ! I love a man called 
 Livingston — and I hate him too, for he has insulted 
 me, does insult me, every hour of the day. This 
 other man, this beautiful bone of contention, I 
 neither love nor hate. But he amused me, and 
 interested me — it is all any of them can do for me 
 now, since Casimlr went, and left the poor Lady of 
 Shalott. Yes, I am cursed. But to return to our 
 point. The moment I saw that Lisbon cared for 
 you " 
 
 " Cared for me ? " 
 
 " Yes, adores you — hug the news, if it does you 
 any good. For you, and no one else — like that. 
 There are many ways of caring, of course. I evoke 
 the baser sort. Yes, he cares for you, Carrie, just 
 as I care for Casimir. It is against my interest to 
 marry Casimir, do you see? just as it was not to 
 Lisbon's interest to marry you, but Lady Violet 
 instead. And being a sensible, consistent man, he 
 pursued his policy, and married her, just as I 
 consult my best interests, or what I think to be 
 my best interests, by refusing to marry Casimir 
 and give all this up." She waved her hand round 
 the room. " Both Lisbon and I have realised that 
 Love isn't everything " 
 
 " Love is nothing," I said sadly.
 
 276 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " I might be wrong," she said softly ; " I don't 
 seem to get much happiness out of my theories 
 myself. But do, dearest, take my advice and wait." 
 
 " For what ? " 
 
 " Lady Violet's death, of course. It's the obvious 
 move, is it not ? And such as I am, I shall stand 
 out of the way ; I can't bear the idea of making 
 any woman unhappy, least of all a pal. Besides, 
 Carrie, if you will forgive me for saying so, I know 
 you are so good, that your jealousy even is a kind 
 of vicarious jealousy — you suffer not so much on 
 your own account as on Lady Violet's " 
 
 " Oh, Mariuscha, why should you sneer and spoil 
 it all?" 
 
 " I am always sneering — you are always protest- 
 ing, eh, Carrie ? Well, however you may feel about 
 it, I have done all I know to stop your being 
 worried on either moral or personal grounds. I 
 have persuaded — told — nay, ordered him to go 
 from here, and he is going to have a telegram 
 to-morrow, bidding him hie himself to the bedside 
 of his only and lawful wife. And you will stay 
 with me a little longer, won't you, dear, and see me 
 through ? " 
 
 " I can't really do anything for you, Mariuscha, 
 dear, or you know I would." 
 
 "Can't you, though? I believe if you lived with 
 me instead of The Coles, that the boycott would be 
 taken off at once, and the whole neighbourhood 
 come flocking to call." 
 
 " But why don't you send Coles away, anyhow?"
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 277 
 
 " You mean yoit won't come ? " 
 
 " I can't." 
 
 " Well, then, I must take what I can get. You 
 don't suppose I prefer the society of adventurers 
 and West Kensington matrons? No, no. Ach^ 
 du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin ! Now, child, you 
 must go to bed. Say thank you prettily to poor 
 Mariuscha. . . ." 
 
 She kissed me — a rare act with her — and talked 
 "baby" talk. As I turned to go, she called me 
 back : 
 
 " I say, he'll be off the first thing to-morrow 
 morning, before you are up ; you might go and 
 say a kind word to him." 
 
 I stared. " In his room ? " 
 
 " In his own room, or the smoking-room. I 
 expect he is in the latter, waiting for you. I said 
 something about sending you along." 
 
 She meant well. I answered sincerely : 
 
 " How kind of you ; but I can't." 
 
 " Why not ? Too proud, after the way he has 
 treated you?" 
 
 " Not that, but " 
 
 " You are afraid he would want to kiss you ? " 
 
 " I am afraid / should want him to." 
 
 " Well, and if he did ? Do you think he never 
 kisses any one but Lady Violet ? " 
 
 " I know he has kissed you^ and I don't mind. 
 But, tell me, would you let Casimir kiss you ? " 
 
 " No, I should not," she said. " It would be too 
 serious. It would imperil my resolve. I see what
 
 278 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 you mean. It's sensible of you. No, don't go 
 near your man — you love him too much, as I do 
 Casimir." 
 
 " Mariuscha, is there no chance — none, of your 
 ever being a happy, contented woman with that 
 nice man ? " 
 
 " No ; never, now," she said, half closing the door 
 on me. "As long as we both shall live. I am 
 lost." 
 
 " You are ? " 
 
 She nodded. " Good night ! Sleep well ! " 
 
 The door closed.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 I WENT abroad after that for more than a year ; 
 Mich' found a most advantageous holiday engage- 
 ment for me in Germany. I discovered afterwards 
 that the advantages of it had been entirely pro- 
 cured by Mariuscha. Fraulein S had been 
 
 amply subsidised to require very little work of me 
 at a preposterous wage, and to make my stay in 
 her house as agreeable as possible. German-like, 
 she kept the secret well. My nerves thoroughly 
 steadied and my health recuperated, I came back 
 to Hans Place and became immersed in the care 
 and interests of Michelle's family. 
 
 Of course, I had seen or heard nothing of " the 
 girls " during my absence from England. It had 
 been a rest-cure inasmuch as disquieting news ; 
 nay, all news from home seemed to have been 
 sedulously kept from me. I sought Jehane at her 
 club as soon as might be on my return, and 
 asked her to put me up to date. 
 
 Jehane was her aggravated self — longer, lanker, 
 
 more untidy than ever. I noticed, for the first 
 
 time almost, what beautiful eyes she had. They 
 
 were a little hollow. She sat over the fire in as 
 
 279
 
 28o A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 decorative, and to say decent, a manner as was 
 consistent with comfort, and gave me the informa- 
 tion I desired. 
 
 " Oh, well, Margot's married ! — to her blessed 
 old R.A. She is quite happy. He is very well 
 off, and has resigned the R.A. himself, and he only 
 lets ' my wife ' go on with her art as a great favour 
 and a nice amusement. She never exhibits. He 
 insisted on having the old mother to live with 
 them as long as she held on, and gave her the best 
 room in the house. He adored her, it appears. 
 Well, she was nearer his own age, anyway." 
 
 " Margot might have sent me some wedding 
 cake," I said banteringly, though I really didn't 
 care about it. 
 
 " Well, I don't know, there was always some- 
 thing inhuman about Margot. The main chance 
 bulked so large with her, as we journalists say. 
 Artists are like that, and so are authors, but 
 journalists are not expected to have any tempera- 
 ment, it seems, any more than scene painters and 
 poster-men, eh ? " 
 
 " I don't know whether they are allowed to 
 have it," I said. "They take it, anyhow." 
 
 " Don't be bitter, Carrie. You and I have never 
 made our temperaments an excuse for anything, 
 have we? What about Mariuscha? You know 
 I wouldn't go to stay with her.?" 
 
 " On moral grounds, eh ? " 
 
 "Oh no. Not my sort, that's all. Margot 
 battened on her and swallowed her dreadful set,
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 281 
 
 and made no bones about it, but I simply couldn't 
 prostitute my mind to Mrs Coles and James 
 Lisbon. Mariuscha seems to go on all right, if 
 she can only smoke and laze about. Thirty or 
 forty cigarettes a day she runs to ; she'll kill 
 herself Does a lot of good in the neighbourhood, 
 I hear. Regular Lady Bountiful ! Conscience 
 money, I suppose. But here I am gassing away 
 about her, and you hear all the news from her 
 sister, of course." 
 
 " Not much. They don't see much of each 
 other. Michelle is grown very prim. But one 
 thing I have heard which might alter things a 
 little as far as one person is concerned." 
 
 " Livingston .? " 
 
 "Yes. That boy — George Grant — you 
 know " 
 
 " Yes, the boy that pinched you. Go on." 
 
 " George Grant died — he was drowned, and old 
 Canon Barling died, atid his daughter — she was 
 Mr Hardman's second cousin, you remember — 
 married a man of considerable means — quite as 
 rich as Mr Hardman, I believe, so there are the 
 only two people who had any rights on Mr 
 Hardman's property disposed of! " 
 
 " Hooray ! Perhaps Casimir Livingston will 
 relent, and let Mariuscha marry him, and prevent 
 her poisoning herself with nicotine because people 
 won't call on her. That's about it, isn't it ? The 
 smoke of despair ! " 
 
 " It is possible they'll fix it up."
 
 282 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " People do say they have done that 
 already." 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 " Without benefit of clergy, you know. See 
 each other once a month. I daresay it's all 
 tommyrot and Ma.rgo^\" 
 
 " What a pun ! But, I say, how painfully they 
 all do marry and settle down ! " 
 
 " Don't they ? " said Jehane sympathetically. 
 I believe I could live with old Jehane, after all ! 
 " I was up at Desdemona's the other day ; she 
 and Perry are still turtle-doving ! It is a very 
 good thing he didn't have me, for I should never 
 have been equal to it. I think I see myself warm- 
 ing a man's slippers and sewing on his shirt 
 buttons for him — I, who can never get my own 
 to stick on ! " 
 
 " No ; you are a woman of many pins, and un- 
 acquainted with the saving grace of buttons. But 
 you get along all right." I was in a tolerant mood 
 towards untidiness just then. 
 
 " So — so ! " replied Jehane, poking the fire with 
 the toe of her shoe till it blazed again. " It seems 
 to me that my husbands are papers, as you used 
 to say, and my children articles. I beat Desdemona 
 at it, for I produce one a month, and I pocket the 
 fee myself, instead of a fool of a doctor." 
 
 " But you never spend it — at least, not on your- 
 self. A pair of new shoes, now, would be distinctly 
 advantageous." 
 
 " Oh, I slouch along. The porter's baby who
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 283 
 
 is carried all day, has got the smartest pair in 
 the world that I gave him," 
 
 " You old idiot ! " 
 
 " Maybe." She hummed an air. " I am like 
 the Miller of Dee. I care for nobody, and nobody 
 cares for me. Except you, Carrie. We are both 
 rather drowned rats of the world. Let's ' pal up ' 
 together. There's the room that Desdemona had, 
 still at your service in the flat — I keep dress boxes 
 in it now, and apples. I go to bed on an apple like 
 other great men before me. Do come ; you know I 
 like you." 
 
 " And I like you, dear thing, but I seem to have 
 grown so fidgety and cross of late — I dont't know 
 what has come to me. Still, I am perfectly sure 
 of this, that if you and I commit the frightful error 
 of putting — what shall I say?— all our eggs into 
 the same basket, we should be by the ears in a 
 week. I am half Scotch, as you know." 
 
 " And whole particular," murmured Jehane. 
 
 " Yes ; I will tell you the dreadful truth, Jehane, 
 it is a Scotch trait of the Scotchiest — I should want 
 clean sheets on my bed once a week. Lady Violet 
 used to have to give them to me " 
 
 " I know ; she pampered your body, and starved 
 your soul," said Jehane. " Don't try to kid me : I 
 know very well that you are only inventing all 
 these prohibitory rules to choke me off. 'Twas a 
 handsome offer, own ! But you have reasons, 
 other ones, for not wanting to mess with me. It 
 would be messing, I admit. I can never alter
 
 284 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 myself, so I expect I shall be a lonely bird for the 
 rest of my days. Oh, I don't complain, Jehane 
 doesn't complain. La garde meurt^ mais ne se rend 
 pas — what did Cambronne say? At present I am 
 fairly all right, but I tell you, Carrie, when it comes 
 to this, that the rotten little men in offices one 
 lives by, because they happen to control the out- 
 put of the press ; when the rotten cotton editors 
 won't take my stuff but shake their heads and 
 hint — just hint, mind you ! — that it is a leetle out 
 of date, and that the time has come when I may 
 fairly rest on my laurels, or beam-ends, and that 
 sort of mock-turtly consoling rubbish, I shall just 
 bow politely, and leave their place smiling, and 
 go to the nearest chemist and buy an ounce of 
 morphia. Then home, and, having composed my 
 skirtikins neatly — for the first and only time in 
 my life — round my ankles, and having seen that 
 there are some fresh flowers in the room, I shall 
 inject the deadly substance, and be found by the 
 cheap char' in the morning — dead — quite dead 
 Oh!" 
 
 Deeply affected by the moving picture of Jehane 
 dead, and slangy even in death, I exclaimed : 
 
 " Darling old Jehane ! the very first time an 
 editor cuts up rough you are to send me a wire, 
 before paying any silly visit to chemists and 
 gratifying your melodramatic instincts, and making 
 a ' par ' — you wouldn't get more than eight lines — 
 and I'll come to live with you, bag and baggage, 
 and sleep in the blankets, if you like, or provide
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 285 
 
 sheets myself, eh ? But, meantime, say the cap of 
 journalism still sits lightly on your brow, and I am 
 Mrs Langshire's nursery governess en titre, and I 
 am making the hideous discovery that I rather like 
 children " 
 
 I made this ghastly admission in fear and 
 trembling, not knowing what capital of mirth and 
 derision Jehane might make of it. But, oddly 
 enough, she took me seriously, even wistfully, 
 
 "Aren't you rather showing the cloven foot of 
 the maternal instinct they talk so much about? 
 You were bound to have it lurking somewhere in 
 the recesses of your being. Don't look so ashamed 
 of it, my dear ; it is no particular disgrace to be 
 a woman, after all. I sometimes think that we of 
 the Sex were meant to meekly follow the great 
 Convention, and have our babies — a sufficiency of 
 them — decently and in order. One never gets 
 very far from it, anyway. The desire to mother 
 something or somebody is bred in the bone. 
 Why, I, myself — I have started a cat in the flat 
 now, unbeknown to the landlord — something curly 
 and purry to come and welcome me when I get 
 in at nights ; it's a bit of company. Since even 
 Louy married — at her size ! — I got too lonely for 
 words. The milkman's yaup in the mornings 
 used to make me leap out of bed in a panic. Old 
 maid's nerves, that's all. But Mistigris will be 
 having a set of kittens next, and I shall be found 
 hanging over the cot full of the base-born things, 
 attending to them and slobbering over them, just
 
 286 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 like Perry and Desdemona. I say, Carrie, isn't it 
 quite funny to go up there, and gloat on the baby 
 that ought by rights to be half mine. Makes me 
 look about for the hanky that isn't sticking in my 
 waistband, so I have to swallow 'em. And instead 
 of being half mine, it is all Desdemona's, and yet 
 I am so poor-spirited that I don't hate her one 
 little bit." 
 
 " I should have said large-hearted," I interposed. 
 
 " I take it out in giving her hints as to scientific 
 training of babies. She doesn't know in the very 
 least how to manage hers. Fancy ! She " 
 
 " Old maid's children ! " I interrupted. " Jehane, 
 dear, allow me to prevent your becoming maudlin. 
 Let me tell you what I came to tell you. We are 
 all going to Swanbergh for the summer, and do 
 you happen to know — I believe you had an aunt 
 there — if there is a decent beach for my babies ? " 
 
 " Ho, ho ! " laughed Jehane. " My babies ! 
 Who's maudlin now ? I think I see you, Caroline 
 Courtenay, taking out the brats early in the 
 morning, piloting them down to the beach in the 
 cliff tramway, with their pails and their spades 
 knocking against your legs, and you answering 
 their idiotic questions while all the rest of the 
 passengers grin beatifically. Then you sit down 
 patiently, and produce a basket made of twine 
 with ' A Present from Swanbergh ' on it, and you 
 wedge their little persons and all their clothes into 
 india-rubber waders till they look like specimens 
 tn the Natural History Museum of some new
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 287 
 
 beetle or microbe, and send them into the sea 
 to plodge. Then you will sigh and produce a 
 delightful novel of Miss Marie Corelli's, but not 
 for long will you enjoy it. There'll be sounds 
 of infant woe, and you'll rush in after Bobby 
 or Billy in extremis lying on his stomach in the 
 surf, and you'll be soaked through getting him out, 
 and the grateful infant will kick you black and 
 blue. It is a bit of a drop, isn't it, Carrie, for a 
 clever, educated girl like you ? " 
 
 " A drop from being a cross, vulgar, old woman's 
 souffre douleur, to have the sole charge of two nice, 
 fat, natural little children, and be a sort of second 
 mother to them, and watch their little minds 
 unfold " 
 
 "Allow me, Carrie, to prevent your becoming 
 maudlin, dear. Oh, I say, we are a pair of us, 
 we are ! " She looked at the club clock. " I say, 
 I'm due at home to work up an article. Good-bye, 
 old girl ; go back to your babies, and I'll go back 
 to my cat. We are only silly, normal women, 
 when all is said and done ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 To Swanbergh we went, and, as Jehane predicted, 
 I did sit for hours on the beach with the con- 
 ventional bit of sewing in my fingers and the buns 
 and Albert biscuits in the paper bag beside me, 
 under the nurse-like check umbrella, a sort of 
 anchorage for the two happy little mortals that 
 played round me at a safe calculated distance, 
 whence I could run at once to retrieve them, 
 should any of the minute troubles incident to 
 childhood befall the sweet, stolid children of 
 Herbert Langshire. 
 
 Michelle generally came down to the beach 
 with us for her bathe and her swimming lesson, 
 and would join us later on and sit in the sun to 
 let her hair dry. She was kind and conventional. 
 Her sister had made her so ; Mariuscha's conduct 
 had pushed her into the conventions Mariuscha 
 despised. She was not exactly a hard mistress, 
 but she kept my nose to the grindstone, inasmuch 
 as she insisted on her children's usurping the 
 whole field of my thought, and the monopolising 
 of all my waking hours in their service was making 
 rather an idiot of me. She looked with some 
 
 288
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 289 
 
 disfavour on any rapprochement between me and 
 my old friends ; she thought them rough and 
 common (so they were), and she did not want 
 my attention in any way distracted from her 
 immediate circle, and its affairs. I did not care ; 
 I saw my dear old Jehane now and then, and 
 that was all I cared for ; I had never had many 
 men friends, and I had none at all now. 
 
 The children were very exacting in their un- 
 conscious way. In the course of the morning, 
 somebody's shoe-lace was sure to come undone 
 a few dozen times, or somebody's hat elastic snap, 
 or somebody else's sash cry aloud for the useful 
 and fallible pin. I liked it. The sight of the 
 yellow sand pouring through the gap between 
 the big toe and the next one was sweetly familiar 
 to me, the gold locks turning up at the ends 
 and reddening and coarsening under the fierce 
 heat of the sunlight rejoiced my eyes, the clash 
 of the little useless pails was music in my ears. 
 I was happy — there is no other word for it, happy 
 without strain or violence, but with a full conscious- 
 ness that this quiet form of what the whole world 
 pursues so anxiously was more — far more than 
 I had the right to expect, and best for me, out 
 ^ of all good gifts that I might foolishly have 
 hankered after. It was Peace. Peace ! 
 
 And yet these little gods in the machine to me 
 were another woman's children ! 
 
 It was always at the back of my mind that I 
 must not make them too fond of me, that I 
 
 T
 
 290 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 must not let the trailing, clinging tendrils of my 
 heart, aspiring after affection, fasten round them 
 till it was agony to be torn off, and cast away 
 from them, as I inevitably should be. Sometimes, 
 however, I sensibly made a compact with myself, 
 and agreed to let my love faculty take its course, 
 and waste its all on these heaven-sent objects 
 of devotion, at the cost of bearing the pain that 
 must ensue, when the divergences of life, and the 
 claims of those nearer in blood, deprived me of 
 my solace. Yes, I made up my mind to love 
 while, and what, I could. My youth was going — 
 had gone — well, Nature takes no heed of waste, 
 nor counts her failures or sighs after the ungarnered 
 ears that fall out of the waggon. 
 
 One day as I sat huddled up on the beach, 
 quite alone, for the moment, for the children had 
 run to the part of the shore whence they could 
 observe their mother taking her first swimming 
 lesson, I saw Colonel Lisbon come out of the 
 porch of the Beach Hotel, just behind me, and 
 walk deliberately in my direction. He had the 
 walk of an older man. I sat quite still on the 
 hammock of sand the children had made for 
 me with their little spades, and waited for him 
 to reach the place where I was. He had spied 
 me from one of the hotel windows, doubtless. As 
 soon as he attained me he flung himself down 
 on the sand at my side, and pulled his cap over 
 his eyes. The sun was unmercifully strong just 
 then.
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 291 
 
 I noticed a wide band of crape on his arm, 
 and I knew as well as if he had spoken what he 
 had come to tell me. But he did not speak. I 
 supposed he was embarrassed, and intended me 
 to be the one to break the awkward silence. I 
 did not refuse to help him. Fixing my eyes, 
 which had suddenly misted over, on the door of 
 the bathing machine whence Mrs Langshire was 
 shortly to issue, I asked him a question, to start 
 him — a mean, obvious one : 
 
 " How did you know where to find me ? " 
 
 " Find you, Carrie ? Believe me, dear, I have 
 never once lost sight of you. I have kept an 
 accurate count of your movements ever since that 
 dreary day you left Dampier Square. Carrie ! " 
 — here his voice leapt up — " Carrie, my darling, I 
 am a free man ! " 
 
 I was letting two or three pebbles run softly, 
 backwards and forwards, through my palms. 
 They were hot through and through with the 
 power of the sun, and nearly burned my hands. 
 I always like a little counter irritant in the form of 
 mild pain to help me to make up my mind and 
 stimulate my judgment. The expression James 
 used was tactless, to begin with. To hear a man 
 boasting of his present freedom who had himself 
 in the first instance put the shackles round his 
 neck ! Unconvincing ! In fact, my old lover now 
 stood arraigned before my bar, a moral criminal, 
 and my critical faculty had been sharpened and 
 set on edge by five years of introspection and
 
 292 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 anguish. He would have justice, but scant justice, 
 untempered by mercy. If he had wanted mercy, 
 he should have avoided giving into my hand the 
 weapon of his flirtation with Mariuscha, and he 
 should have come before me five — two years earlier 
 at least, when I still loved him, or thought I did. 
 Woe to the man who builds up that awful cairn of 
 hardness in a once loving, glamour-blinded woman ! 
 For then she will sacrifice reason and truth to her 
 chosen attitude, or pose, if you will, and recklessly 
 stake her own happiness as well as his on the altar 
 of her pride. 
 
 He was talking away, and I was stiffening, 
 instinct with the self-willed rigidity that I would 
 use to fight us both with. 
 
 "And, Carrie, I have come straight off to ask 
 you to marry me — now — next week — as soon, in 
 fact, as you think it would be decent. My late 
 wife " 
 
 I dropped the last pebble and turned to him. 
 " 1 shall never think it decent. Never. You 
 should have thought of it before. Men can't do 
 these things and then consider the case unchanged. 
 When you threw me over, five years ago" — he 
 protested faintly, but I went on — " threw me over 
 to marry another woman " 
 
 " Carrie, Carrie, mind your words. They are 
 hardly applicable. You mean to say that I threw 
 you over to nurse another woman. For I have 
 nursed her, faithfully. I can honestly say so " 
 
 "Yes, you can truly say so," I said with a shiver
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 293 
 
 of disgust. There it was, my best weapon ! The 
 horror of certain situations that had never died out ! 
 
 " I kept her alive for three years over the time 
 allotted to her by the doctors. It was a pure 
 miracle, her surviving. I suppose, Carrie, in your 
 thoughts of me, you fancied I was more likely 
 to try my best to hasten her death than defer it, 
 like some conventional villain of melodrama — 
 put arsenic or antimony in her gruel or her tea ! 
 Carrie, you surely knew me better than that ! 
 You knew very well that I should do my best 
 when once I had put my shoulder to the wheel. 
 You are silent? Then you did suspect me of 
 unnameable baseness " 
 
 " I suspected you of nothing but the initial 
 baseness of " 
 
 " Oh, for God's sake, say it ! Don't spare me, 
 or mince your words. You never did. That's 
 why I loved you — love you. You suspected me 
 of marrying an old, repulsive " 
 
 " Don't ! " 
 
 " An old woman for the sake of her money, and 
 throwing over the girl I really did love to enable 
 me to do so, without any redeeming ulterior 
 object. But I had an object. You ! Yes, poor 
 Violet was my Leah, and I served my time faith- 
 fully for her. Laban, my task-master, was simply 
 the stress of life that obliged me to obtain a 
 competence to keepjt??^ on. This way, albeit an 
 unpleasant one, lay ready to my hand. I took 
 it. My Rachel, give me your hand and admit I
 
 294 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 am, at least, no worse than Jacob, who loved 
 Rachel so truly that he sold himself into slavery 
 to gain her. There's Scripture authority for me ! 
 And luck ! I got off with five years only. And 
 now the Rachel I worked for turns her face away 
 from me." 
 
 I hated being spoken of theatrically in the third 
 person. " You have just found Leah and Rachel," 
 I said. " They sound well now, but I am sure you 
 never thought of them when you — began your 
 campaign. Tell me — I should like to know, if it 
 is only out of curiosity — what role did you mean 
 me to play, when you first had the idea of marrying 
 Lady Violet ? " 
 
 " To tell you the exact truth, it was in my mind 
 that she wouldn't live," he replied sulkily — I think 
 he always hated telling the truth. " And I didn't 
 mean — at first — to do what I did — that is, keep 
 her alive beyond the stipulated time. But that, of 
 course, was while I was still in doubt as to how 
 you would take it — whether you would cotton or 
 not to my plan." 
 
 " How did you expect me to take it ? " 
 
 " Well, Carrie, we were neither of us very young, 
 very passionately inclined people. I thought you 
 liked me well enough, but then you had been so 
 quiet and sensible — shall I say ? — all along, that I 
 didn't suppose you would care about a lot of love- 
 making. I thought you and I were just the sort 
 of people w^ho could have got along very well in 
 the same house together, and managed with a kiss
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 295 
 
 now and then, till we could marry comfortably. 
 It wasn't that I didn't adore you, mind, but I am 
 a man who has himself well in hand, and I saw no 
 reason why I should compromise you. I — on my 
 honour, I did not intend " 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you for intending 
 to spare me ! What a perfectly awful, cold-blooded 
 plan ! I am not sure even that I quite believe in it. 
 
 Men are such Yes, dear, I'll tie it up." This 
 
 was to the little girl, who had wandered up to us 
 with a yard of tape trailing after her and a piteous 
 appeal to be tied again. Cheerfully she raced back 
 to her play, and I continued my conversation with 
 James. " Didn't you know me well enough to realise 
 that I wouldn't have had anything to do with a low 
 schemeof that kind? Not for a moment would I have 
 agreed ! But no, you never did know me, did you ? " 
 
 " As you will. I don't pretend to know women, 
 I am a plain man. But when I found you were 
 going to be stiff-necked and disagreeable about it, 
 it filled me with despair. I was angry with you, 
 but I wanted you more than ever. Your disdainful 
 airs stimulated me. You worked your contempt 
 for all it was worth. You wouldn't look at me. I 
 positively got to know the lines of your profile by 
 heart, I forgot your full face . . . your little wilful, 
 full face ! How hard you must have worked at 
 not turning it in my direction ! You never spoke 
 to me except when you could not absolutely help 
 it. We were a wretched household, weren't we? 
 Poor old Violet, too "
 
 296 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 " Oh, hush ! I suffered also." 
 
 " Oh, I know you did. You got as thin as a 
 lath, and almost plain. I longed to have the 
 
 doctoring of you instead of You desperately 
 
 needed taking care of I got frights about you. 
 I sometimes came up and stood by your door for 
 half an hour in the middle of the night, listening 
 for your breathing. I suspected Heart ? You see, I 
 had been reading medical books till I got nervous. 
 I was afraid of losing my poor Carrie. Darling, 
 if I had knocked, very gently, would you have got 
 up and spoke to me — perhaps let me in " 
 
 "Of course not, James." 
 
 " Of course not ! " He mimicked me sadly. Yet 
 he was never nearer — that is, if he was ever near 
 at all — to getting me than at that moment. 
 " Didn't I tell you ? One knows what you will 
 say beforehand. Bless you, I soon found out 
 what a moral tartar I had caught, a frosty little 
 soul, a woman I loved, but who was too prim to 
 love me." 
 
 " I did love you, James. But the idea of you 
 selling yourself for money ! We could have 
 starved together — worked " 
 
 " Neither," said he. " I didn't want to work, and 
 I didn't want you to starve. So I thought myself 
 very clever when I hammered out a way." 
 
 " — Of degrading yourself in my eyes, hopelessly. 
 James, those nights you spoke of — I am sure that 
 you never waited a full hour, half an hour, nay, not 
 five minutes, or else you would have known that
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 297 
 
 I was not asleep. You would have heard me cry- 
 ing. I was very seldom asleep, but generally wide 
 awake, listening, horribly fascinated, to sounds that 
 I would have given anything not to have heard. 
 I used to hear you — or think I heard you ... it 
 was awful . . . yes, I am sure it was that that killed 
 all the love I once felt for you . . . slowly. Why 
 didn't you get somebody — ■ — ? " 
 
 " Bravado." 
 
 " It was a small thing, of course, but it was so 
 ugly, so squalid, so unworthy of the man I " 
 
 " I know," he answered. " Well, you see, dear, 
 it was this v/ay : I got embittered, I said, If the 
 woman I love won't look at me, won't listen to me, 
 won't let me give her a good time, then at least 
 The Other shall profit by it; she shall have my care, 
 she shall not be able to complain that she wasn't 
 properly looked after. And she was looked after, 
 jolly well, I can tell you. Poor old soul, she was 
 grateful enough, anyhow, and realised that I was 
 paying dear for my fortune. I think she came to 
 twig it at the last ; still, I can swear that I never 
 relaxed, never stinted her wishes in any one 
 particular. But it was pretty stiff! Five precious 
 years of a man's life spent in carrying out the 
 avocations of a hired nurse ! By Jove, Carrie, I 
 worked at my loveless marriage as if it had been 
 one of the most interesting of the professions. 
 Honestly, if it had not been for my intense con- 
 viction that what I was doing was justifiable, I 
 could hardly have carried it through. My very
 
 298 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 gorge rose sometimes at the horrid tasks, the 
 indignities it entailed. We won't speak of them — 
 I see you shudder — but I must tell you that many 
 a time I felt the sensation of being actually 
 degraded — something like what a woman disguised 
 as a valet might feel. I was a valet, disguised as 
 a husband." 
 
 " Oh, don't ! " 
 
 " I shock you, Carrie, I suppose ? Well, I don't 
 wonder, 1 shocked myself And against all sense 
 and reason, I got to long to keep her alive, out 
 of a sort of misapplied professional pride, it fed 
 my vanity ; and also I was aware, somehow, that 
 her death would practically avail me nothing — 
 the money I was to get would only bore me, now 
 you were changed to me. I had intended to be 
 her chief legatee, of course, I had laid myself out 
 for it ; but would you believe me, Carrie, I positively 
 dreaded the moment when it would all come to 
 me ! The cold, tall house — freehold, that I now 
 live in — where you were to come and live with 
 me — only I had a sort of feeling all along that 
 you wouldn't. So to defer her death was to defer 
 the moment when I should touch her awful 
 money " 
 
 " But you handled it, all the time." 
 
 "That's ungenerous — but no matter. You can 
 hardly hurt me, now. You have broken me, dear. 
 . . . Ah, what a winter that last one we passed 
 together was ! And a particularly foggy one, I 
 remember. And then, to crown all, you took
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 299 
 
 some sort of ridiculous notion into your head, and 
 came and gave up your place — like a servant — in 
 my study — theatrically, as if to rub it in the 
 better. I got you there, however — I made you 
 stop your month — my last hope." 
 
 " Yes, I remember I said that I had rather forfeit 
 the money " 
 
 "At that moment I simply hated you, Carrie. 
 Money — between us ! " 
 
 " I wanted so desperately to go. The strain — 
 I could not bear it any longer." 
 
 " You mean you didn't choose. You can bear 
 anything as long as you wish. You have the 
 pluck of the devil. Indomitable little thing ! 
 That is what has made me love you, and only 
 you and no other woman in my whole life, so 
 that I have worn myself out in your service " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean that I am ' done.' I am old. I have 
 got the beastly money, it is true, but I should like 
 to chuck it out of the window. Who wants it 
 — who wants me ? I am grey, nearly white — I 
 stoop — I have grown old in waiting for a thank- 
 less woman, and working for a pittance to keep 
 her on." 
 
 He maddened me so that I flung out at him- 
 " So you call that work ? And you tell me that 
 you have never loved any other woman but me ! 
 What about Mariuscha?" 
 
 " Mariuscha Lancaster ? My co-fortune-hunter. 
 The brain of a man and the heart of a woman !
 
 300 A WORKADAY WOMAN 
 
 Oh yes, I made love to the Russian girl in my 
 despair. We were pretty well in the same boat. 
 Yes, she was kind to me, and then she sent me 
 back to you." 
 
 " Oh, that's too much ! Go back to her. Get 
 her to marry you. Put your two ill-gotten fortunes 
 together." 
 
 "Pool our wealth, eh? Yes, she is sensible 
 enough, but she happens to have made other 
 plans. Are not you aware that your old friend 
 has taken her life in her own hands and arranged 
 it boldly and simply, according to the dictates 
 of her reason and her inclinations? I may say 
 with regard to its limitations, its possibilities. But, 
 then, Mariuscha is an exceptional woman ! " 
 
 "And I am an ordinary, every-day one, thank 
 God. I understand you. I don't even consider 
 myself insulted. It is Mariuscha you insult by 
 your insinuations. But about our own case— yes, 
 I do feel as an ordinary woman would feel under 
 the circumstances, I cannot forgive certain things. 
 You will say that I am narrow. Say so, say so ! 
 I glory in it ! Perhaps I am benighted, don't even 
 see clear? But then I'm not exceptional. I don't 
 know whether I even love you now or not ; I am 
 sure, I hope not. Anyway, it is settled that I am 
 not clever or subtle enough to explain or argue 
 about my emotions, or to strike out a strong line 
 for myself. But some of the things you have 
 done, I simply can't stand, even if it was right to 
 do them from your own point of view. I just
 
 A WORKADAY WOMAN 301 
 
 can't get over them. And all that pretty Bible 
 story you have been telling me and its applica- 
 tion — it only shocks me and doesn't help you a 
 bit. Forget poor Leah ! Be your soft, obedient 
 Rachel ! Never ! Never ! To live in that house 
 with you would stifle me, the walls would lean 
 down and tell me things. You live there, you say .• 
 I should have to go there with you. One thing, 
 I could walk up the steps by myself! But I could 
 not bear to go through that doorway where you 
 stooped and kissed me behind her back one day — 
 a charming bit of espieglerie you thought it — 
 or to see you sitting in the swivel chair that you 
 sat in one other time, and paid me my wages 
 out of her money for not looking after her — 
 it was my retaining fee, I suppose ? And the 
 
 room upstairs " 
 
 " We won't speak of that, if you don't mind," 
 said he, white as ashes. " I see that your heart 
 is definitely set against me. Yet all that I did, I 
 repeat, was done for you ; I overdid it, I suppose — 
 I have disgusted you. I thought you were a 
 stronger woman ? Good-bye."
 
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