Eleanor’s cab rumbled away round the corner. Mrs. Bailey was still standing at the top of the steps. Miriam ran up the steps looking busily ahead. It’s going to be a lovely evening she said as she passed Mrs. Bailey. She was safely in the hall. But the front door was closed and Mrs. Bailey was in the hall just behind her. She turned abruptly, almost colliding with her, into the dining-room. Mrs. Bailey’s presence was there waiting for her in the empty room. Behind her just inside the door was Mrs. Bailey, blocking the way to the untrammelled house. There’s quite a lot of August left she quoted from the thoughts that had poured down to meet her as she stood facing the stairs. The clock on the mantelpiece was telling the time of Mrs. Bailey’s day. The empty room was waiting for the next event, a spread meal, voices sounding towards a centre, distracting attention from its increasing shabbiness ...... there was never long for it to remain sounding its shabbiness, the sound of dust, into the empty space. Events going on and on, giving no time to get in, behind the dusty shabbiness to the sweet dreams and health and quiet breathing......

“What a jolly big room this is, isn’t it?” she demanded, turning towards Mrs. Bailey’s shapely skimpy form. Mrs. Bailey knew she was chafing in the airless shabby room. The windows closed to keep the dust out made the dust smell.

“Isn’t it?” agreed Mrs. Bailey cordially.

“You must have been glad to get rid of the lodgers and have possession of the whole house.”

“Yes” said Mrs. Bailey straightening the sideboard cloth.

Hearty agreement about the advantages and disadvantages of boarders and then, I think it’s very plucky of you and away upstairs. A few words about the interest of having boarders to begin getting to the door with.

“The Irishman’s an interesting specimen of humanity.”

“Isn’t he interesting,” laughed Mrs. Bailey moving further into the room.

“It’s much more interesting to have boarders than lodgers” said Miriam moving along the pathway of freedom towards the open door. Mrs. Bailey stood silent, watching politely. There was no way out. Mrs. Bailey’s presence would be waiting in the hall, and upstairs, unappeased. Miriam glanced towards her without meeting her eyes and sat limply down on the nearest chair.

“Phoo—it’s rather a relief,” she murmured.

Mrs. Bailey went briskly to the door and closed it and came freely back into the room, a little exacting figure who had seen all her selfish rejoicing. She would get up now and walk about the room, talking easily and eloquently about Eleanor’s charm and go away leaving Mrs. Bailey mystified and disposed of.

“My word” declared Mrs. Bailey tweaking the window curtains. Then Mrs. Bailey was ready and anxious to talk her over and impart her opinion. After seeming to like her so much and being so attentive and sending her off so gaily and kindly, she had some grievance. It was not the bill. It was a matter of opinion. Mrs. Bailey had been charmed and had yet seen through her. Seen what? What was the everlasting secret of Eleanor? She imagined them standing talking together, politely, and joking and laughing. Mrs. Bailey would like Eleanor’s jokes; they would be in agreement with her own opinions about things. But she had formed some idea of her and was ready to express it. If it explained anything one would have to accept it, from Mrs. Bailey. To make nice general remarks about her and enquire insincerely about the bill would be never to get Mrs. Bailey’s uninfluenced opinion. She would not give it unless she were asked.

“I’m awfully sorry for her,” she said in Eve’s voice. That would mean just her poverty and her few clothes and delicate health. There could be an insincere discussion. It might end in nothing and the mean selfish joy would still be waiting upstairs as soon as one had forgotten that it was mean and selfish.

“So am I” said Mrs. Bailey heartily. There was anger in her face. There really was something, some really bad opinion about Eleanor. Mrs. Bailey thought these things more important than joyful freedom. She was one of those people who would do things; then there were other people too; then one need not trouble about what it was or warn people against Eleanor. The world would find out and protect itself, passing her on. If Mrs. Bailey felt there was something wrong, no one need feel blamed for thinking so. There was. What was it?

“I’m the last to be down on anyone in difficulties” said Mrs. Bailey.

“Oh yes.” It was coming.

“It’s the way of people I look to.” She stopped. If she were not pressed she would say no more.

“Oh, by the way, Mrs. Bailey, has her bill been settled?” The voice of Mrs. Lionel ..... she’s unsquashable my dear, absolutely unsquashable. You never saw anything like it in your life. But she’s done frerself in Weston. It might finish the talk.

“That’s all in order young lady. It’s not that at all.”

“Oh, I know. I’m glad though.”

“I had my own suspicions before you told me you’d be responsible. I never thought about that.”

“No, I see.”

“It’s the way of people.”

“Well you know I told you at once that you must have her here at your own risk after the first week, and that I hardly knew anything about her.” If she had paid the two weeks so easily perhaps Mr. Taunton was still looking after her needs. No. She would have mentioned him. He had dropped her entirely; after all he had said.

“I’m not blaming you, young lady.” Perhaps Mrs. Bailey had offered advice and been rebuffed in some way. There would be some mysterious description of character; like the Norwegian .... ‘selfish in a way I couldn’t describe to you’ ....

“If I’d known what it was going to be I’d not have had her in the house two days.”

...... some man .... who? .... but they were out all day and Eleanor had been with her every evening. Besides Mrs. Bailey would sympathise with that.... She was furiously angry; “not two days.” But she had been charmed. Charmed and admiring.

“Did she flirt with some one?”

“That” said Mrs. Bailey gravely, “I can’t tell you. She may have; that’s her own affair. I wouldn’t necessary blame her. Everyone’s free to do as they like provided they behave theirselves.” Mrs. Bailey was brushing at her skirt with downcast eyes.

..... This woman had opened Dr. von Heber’s letter; knew he was coming next year; knew that he “would not have permitted” any talk at all, and that all her interference was meaningless. He was coming, carrying his suitcase out of the hospital, no need for the smart educated Canadian nurses to think about him ..... taking ship .... coming back. Perhaps she resented having been in the wrong.

“It was funny how she found a case so suddenly,” said Miriam drawing herself upright, careless, like a tree in the wind. She had already forgotten she would always feel like that, her bearing altered for ever, held up by him, like a tree in the wind, everyone powerless to embarrass her. Poor Mrs. Bailey....

“You see I feel I drove her to it, in a way.”

Mrs. Bailey listened smiling keenly.

“Yes you see” pursued Miriam cheerfully, “I told her she would be all right for a week. I blamed you for that, said you were flourishing and she could pay when her ship came home.”

“That’s what you told her eh?”

“Well and then when she admitted she had no money and I knew I couldn’t manage more than a week, I advised her to apply to the C.O.S. She said she would and seemed delighted and when I asked her about it later she cried and said she hadn’t been. I said she must do something and then suddenly this case appeared. Where I don’t know.”

“I don’t blame her for not wanting to go there.”

“Why?”

“My word. I’d as soon go straight to the parish.”

“Wilberforce believes in them. He says if you really want to help the helpless you will not flaunt your name in subscription lists but hand your money over to the C.O.S. They are the only charitable organization that does not pauperise.”

“Him? Wilberforce? He has a right to his own opinions I don’t deny. But if he’d ever been in difficulties he might change them. Insulting, that’s my opinion. My word the questions they ask. You can’t call your soul your own.”

“I didn’t know that. That friend my sister brought here was being helped by them.”

“How is Miss Henderson?”

“Perfectly happy. Being with the Greens again seems Paradise she says, after London. She’s satisfied now.” “Mts. She’s a sweet young lady; them’s fortunate as have her.”

“Well now she’s tried something else she appreciates the beautiful home. I don’t think she wants to be free.”

“Quite so. Persons differ. But she’s her own mistress; free to leave.”

“Of course it’s nicer now. The children are at school. She’s confidential companion. They all like her so much. They invented it for her.”

“Quite right. That’s as it should be.”

“And she is absolutely in Mrs. Green’s confidence now. I don’t know what poor Mrs. Green would do without her. She went back just in time for a most fearful tragedy.”

“Tss; dear—dear” murmured Mrs. Bailey waiting with frowning calm eagerness. Miriam hesitated. It would be a long difficult story to make Mrs. Bailey see stupid commercial wealth. She would see wealthy “people,” a “gentleman” living in a large country house, and not understand Mr. Green at all; but Eve, getting the bunch of keys from the ironmonger’s and writing to Bennett to find out about Rupert Street .... and the detective. She would have it in her mind like a novel and never let it go. It would be a breach of confidence...... She paused, not knowing what to do with her sudden animation. It was too late to get back into being an impartial listener, on the verge of going away. She had told everything, without the interesting details. Mrs. Bailey was waiting for them. They were still safe. She might think it was an illness or something about a relative. The only thing to do now was to stay and work off the unexplained animation on anything Mrs. Bailey might choose to say. “Well” said Mrs. Bailey presently, “to return to our friend. What I say is, why doesn’t she go to the clergy, in her own parish?”

“Go on the parish, m’m.”

“Not necessarily on the parish. The clergy’s most helpful and sympathetic. They might tell her of those who would help her.”

“They might. But it’s most awfully difficult. Nobody knows what ought to be done about these things.”

“That is so. But there’s a right and a wrong in everything. There’s plenty of people willing to help those that will help theirselves. But that’s very different to coming into a person’s house to try and get money out of strangers.”

“I say.” “It is I say. I never felt so ashamed in my life.”

“I say...... Did they tell you?”

“Mrs. Hurd came to me herself.”

“Mrs. Hurd. Of course, it would be.”

“My word. I was wild. And them only just come into my house.”

“Yes, of course; I say.”

“Tellin’ them she was ill.”

“She is ill you know.”

“There’s some imagines theirselves ill. If she was anything like as ill as I am she might have something to complain about.”

“I think she’s rather plucky. She doesn’t want to give in. It’s a kind of illness that doesn’t show much. I know her doctor. He’s a Harley Street man. He says that her kind of disorder makes it absolutely impossible for the patient to tell the truth. I don’t believe that. It’s just one of those doctory things they all repeat.” ... What is truth said jesting Pilate and did not wait for an answer. Their idea of truth—

“Well if she is ill why doesn’t she act according?”

“Look after herself a bit. Yes. That’s what she wants to do. But not give in.” “Quite so. That’s a thing a person can understand. But that doesn’t make it right to come to private people and behave in the way she has done. Strangers. I never met such conduct, nor heard of it.”

“No.”

“She’s got relatives I suppose; or friends.”

“Well, that’s just it. I don’t think she has. I suppose the truth is all her friends are tired of helping her.”

“Well, I’m not judging her there. There’s none can be so cruel as relatives, as I know, my word.”

“Yes.”

“They’ll turn from you when you’re struggling to the utmost to help yourself, going on ill, left with four young children, your husband cut off and not a penny.”

“Yes.”

“I agree with her there. I owe all I have, under Providence, to my own hands and the help coming from strangers I had no claim on. But why doesn’t she act open? That’s what I say and I know it. There’s always those ready to help you if you’ll do your part. It’s all take and no give with some.” “Vampires. People are extraordinary.”

“You’d say so if you had this house to manage.”

“I suppose so.”

“You get your eyes open. With one and another.”

“I’d no idea she’d even been talking to the Hurds.”

“Talk? Well I don’t mind telling you now she’s gone.”

“Well, she won’t come back again. If she ever does Mrs. Bailey I hereby refuse all responsibility. On your head be it if you take her in. I can’t keep her.”

“Well, as I say, I’m free to tell you. They used to go upstairs into the drawn-room, mornings, after breakfast. I could hear that woman’s voice going on and on. I was up and down the stairs. What’s more she used to stop dead the minute I came in.”

“Well I am sorry you’ve had all this.”

“I’m not blaming you, young lady.”

“What about all the others?”

“Rodkin and Helsing and Gunner’s out all day.”

“Yes but the others? The Manns and the Irish journalist.” “She’d be clever to get anything out of any of them.”

“I wonder she didn’t try Mrs. Barrow. She’s kind I’m sure and gullible.”

“She’s very kind no doubt in her way. Anyway she’s not one of those who live on a widow woman and pay nothing.”

The old sense of the house was crumbling. To Mrs. Bailey it was worry and things she could not talk about to anyone, and a few nice people here and there. And all the time she was polite; as if she liked them all, equally. And they were polite. Everyone was polite. And behind it was all this. Shifts and secrets and strange characters. When they were all together at Mrs. Bailey’s dinner, they were all carrying things off, politely. Perhaps already she regretted having sent away the lodgers.

“The doctors were nice people to have in the house.”

“Wasn’t they dear boys? Very nice gentlemen. Canadians are the ones to my mind, though I believe as much as any in standing by your own. But you’ve got to consider your interests.”

“Of course.”

“That’s why I mean to advertiss. My word those Hurds are good friends if you like. I couldn’t tell you. The old man’s put an advert for me in the Canadian place in the city.”

“Then you’ll have a houseful of Canadians.”

“That’s what I hope. The more the better of their kind.”

“We shall all be speaking Canadian.”

“Well, since we’re on the subject, Mrs. Hurd advises me to go to Canada. Says it’s all work and no pay over here. Everybody expects too much for too little.”

How could she rejoice in the idea of a house full of Canadians? All the same. Canadian. It would change the house more and more. Mrs. Bailey would not mind that. The house meant nothing to her just as it was with its effect. She had to make it pay. If another house would pay better she would just as soon have another house. “You wouldn’t like to leave London; there’s no place like London.” The Hurds thought everyone in the house selfish, living on Mrs. Bailey’s work, enjoying the house for nothing, forgetting her. It was true ... uneasy in her presence....