The red glow of the sunrise flamed into the room at the same moment that Charley Bye knocked on the bedroom door.
"Up, lasses," he said, in his rich, ponderous tones. "Be you going to lie all day?"
He passed on to the door behind which Annie and Pearl slumbered, and repeated his call.
It was impossible to believe that a whole night had passed. Impossible to believe that they had been sleeping, resting sweetly on that lumpy bed, for hours and hours. A sort of stupor held them in its grip. Dimly they heard stove-lids clanging below. Coals rattling out of the scuttle. The creaking of a pump in the stable-yard beneath their window, the heavy feet of horses on the paving-stones.
All they longed for was to be allowed to sleep for ever. But presently another knock, light but sharp, sounded on the door.
"Say, you girls," came Annie's voice, "you'd better get a move on. Mrs. Jessop won't like it if she's down before you are. There's a troupe come on the midnight train, too, so hurry up. Are you all right?"
"Right as rain, my dear," answered May, springing up with sudden energy. "Down directly." Annie clattered downstairs.
May bent over Delight. "Do you want a wet wash-rag in the eye, duckie? I'll just give you till I count ten. One—two—three—four—five—"
Delight was out on the floor, pulling her nightdress over her head. "Oo—May," she wailed, "I'm so—sleepy. Couldn't you tell them I'm having a spell of some kind?"
"You aren't 'ired to 'ave spells, my girl. 'Ere, 'op into yer duds." She threw an armful of underclothes at her.
As one in a dream, Delight caught them and stood blinking sleepily out of the window. The red sunlight stained the warm whiteness of her body to the blush of an apple-blossom. Her breasts, gently rising and falling, lay like sleeping flowers between her rounded arms. A tangle of yellow curls hung over her drowsy dark eyes. May suddenly beheld her.
"Get back from before that window!" she screamed in a whisper. "Do you want to make a show for the whole town?" She added, solemnly—"Delight, I'm afraid this ain't no place for you. But then I don't know what would be a place for you, I really don't."
"Silly," said Delight, pulling on her stockings. "I fit in anywhere."
Breakfast was ready. Already half the boarders were in their places. These were tannery hands, men from the dye works and jam factory, who had to be at their work early. They sat at a long table by themselves, distinct from the commercial table, the table for other transients, and the table for boarders of a higher class. They were boarded at a low rate, had, in consequence, no table-napkins or bill-of-fare, wiping their mouths on their handkerchiefs when through eating, and being told what choice there was for them by the waitress. It was this table that Delight was to serve.
She and May were in the pantry between the dining-room and kitchen. She was all a-tremble with excitement.
"Do I look tidy, May?" she whispered, glancing over her neat black dress with its sleeves to the wrists and modestly rounded neck, for it was a time when clothes were still made to conceal, and one might even cross the street to see a motor car in Brancepeth.
"Your apron's a bit at one side," answered May, straightening it, "but you look as fresh as a daisy. Oh, Delight, do be on the watch for 'im. You'll know 'im the minute you set eyes on 'im. A kind of bullet 'ead, and those blue eyes like a biby, and 'is teeth just a space apart."
"Lord, d'you expect me to turn his face up and look into his mouth?"
"Don't be 'ateful," replied May, her eyes filling with tears. "If you only knew the ache in me 'ere," she pressed her hand to her heart.
"Now, don't you worry, May! I'm just skittish 'cause I'm nervy. Tell me again what I'm to say to him."
"Lean over 'im and whisper—'Remember your May. Be on the watch tonight.' That'll fetch 'im."
Annie threw open the swing door from the kitchen and fastened it. "Mrs. Jessop's looking for you," she said to May. "She wants you to get busy on the bedrooms. Come on, Delight."
Annie led the way to the dining-room with an air of deserved superiority. She met an early traveller at the door, led him to the commercial table, seated him, and handed him the bill-of-fare. He took out a pair of eye-glasses, adjusted them to his nose, and was about to read when his eyes fell on Delight. For a moment he stared through his glasses; next he bent his head and looked over them; then he took them off and stared. Then he looked up at Annie. "I've never seen that girl here before, have I?" he asked.
"No, sir. She's a new one, just out from the Old Country. She don't know much yet. I've got to take her in hand."
"Well, well." He turned with a sigh, and picked up the bill-of-fare.
Delight, in her close, black dress that strained darkly to cover her exuberant charms, swayed above the boarders. She was happy. These hungry men, with the odours of their occupations hanging about them, seemed like her little children whom she was about to feed. She had been told by Mrs. Bye, the cook, to ask them whether they would have oatmeal porridge or Force. Force was a breakfast food of the day. As she bent over each she asked gently:
"Oatmeal porridge or Forces?"
For some reason she did not like the sound of the singular Force. It was a harsh, disagreeable word. It made her think of wife-beating. But Forces—that was different—she had heard of forces at work. Well, these men must work, so why not work on Forces! From her the word seemed a caress, as she softly rolled the r.
The boarders preferred the good porridge, but it was impossible to resist the seduction of that tone.
"F-or-rces," softly rolled each deep voice after hers.
In the kitchen cook was aghast, outraged. "Whatever has come over the men?" she exclaimed. "Here's my whole pot of porridge going to waste, and package after package of that breakfast food opened. Mrs. Jessop'll be in a fine taking."
"It's that new girl," replied her husband. "You may depend upon it. Women are kittle-cattle, every one on 'em, but she's the worst I seen yet. I knowed we'd have trouble with her the minute I set eyes on her."
"But why?" cried Mrs. Bye. "Why don't she want them to eat their porridge same as usual?"
Charley wagged his head. "Just spite, missus. She seen you had a big pot o' porridge made, and she undertook that you'd have it left on you."
"Well, I'll teach her! I'll get Mrs. Jessop after her. . . ."
But there was one boarder who did not weakly ask for Forces. This was Kirke. Eye to eye, he and Delight faced each other, then he bit off the one word:
"Parritch."
Delight's lids fell. She swayed to the kitchen and said to Mrs. Bye:
"Forces."
When the dish was set before Kirke, a heavy scowl darkened his white forehead. "I asked for parritch," he snarled.
Delight leaned over him almost tenderly, his angry eyes caught the pearly curve beneath her chin. "There aren't any porridge," she breathed. "There's just Forces."
Forces indeed. Terrible forces at work to make Kirke and all the others eat just what she chose that they should have!
So busy was Delight that she forgot for a while to look for Albert Masters. But when the men were eating their finnan haddie and fried potatoes, she suddenly thought with remorse that she had forgotten her mission for May. Her eyes flew along the bent heads. They dwelt a moment on Kirke's narrow sleek one at the end of the table and then moved on. Ah! that must be he. That round, fair head, those round rosy cheeks, those childlike blue eyes that were looking at her with shy pleasure. She smiled. He smiled in return and showed square teeth set a little apart. She went quickly to him, putting the sugar basin within his reach.
"Remember your May," she whispered.
The colour deepened in his cheeks. He looked sheepishly from side to side to see if the others had heard. Then he nodded.
When the others straggled out he remained apparently engrossed in a slice of bread and jam. Kirke and Lovering went out together, using toothpicks and joking with the air of swagger fellows. They felt considerably above the other third-floor boarders by virtue of Lovering's position as under-foreman in the dye works, and Kirke's as a shipper in the tannery. But they preferred the cheap accommodation to a more ambitious status.
The dining-room was now empty save for Delight and the young man. He laid down his bread and got nervously to his feet. Delight came and stood beside him, a roguish smile curving towards a dimple in her cheek.
"You heard what I said, eh?" she asked in a low tone.
"Y-yes," he stammered. "You've made me awful proud. When can we get together?"
"I don't quite know. She's upstairs with Mrs. Jessop now, makin' beds. Couldn't you go back to your room as though you'd forgot something?"
"She? What do you mean she?"
"Why, May, silly. She's terrible keen to see you. You're Albert all right, aren't you?"
"Albert! I say, what are you giving me?"
"Why, May's Albert. Albert Masters. I s'pose you'd like me to tell you where you first met May!" Her smile was sarcastic now. The dimple had gone into retreat.
"Look here," exclaimed the young man, "look here. There's a mistake. I'm not Albert. I'm Jimmy Sykes. Albert don't board here now. He's away up near the station." His face was blank with disappointment. "I guess you didn't mean anything by your whispering, then."
"Lor', what did you think I meant?"
"Well, you said—'Remember, you may'!"
"Oh, listen to the boy! I said—'Remember your May'! What did you think I meant—'Remember, you may'?"
"I thought you meant I might make love to you." He stared into her eyes imploringly. "Just a little. I'd be awfully disappointed if I thought it was all off between us."
"Oh, well," she moved a little closer to him, her head drooping toward her breast. "I'd be pretty lonely here if there was no one to like me or take me out evenings."
He caught her hand and held it in both of his. "Oh, let me take you out, let me keep company with you just a little. Why, look here, if you only knew what I felt like when you asked me this morning if I would have oatmeal porridge or Forces, you'd be surprised, I bet."
Her deep, mirthful eyes met his. "Tell me," she whispered, "what did you feel like?"
"Oh, I can't hardly explain. All tickly up the backbone, and weak, and in a kind of haze, and I wanted to eat whatever you'd bring me if it was poison."
She smiled, showing her small white teeth; her eyelashes seemed to get irrevocably tangled. With a frantic look towards the door Jimmy Sykes caught her in his arms and planted a kiss on her cheek, then fled, late for his work.
Delight tiptoed to the commercial table and took a lump of loaf sugar from the silver bowl. She laid it on her tapering tongue, then closed her lips and sucked like a happy child. Annie opened the door and said—"You'd have time for a bite of breakfast now before the troupe comes down. You can look after them. You've done real well."
"Just chuck those sausages into the stock-pot," said the cook to Delight. "Every bit helps. Then come and get your breakfast while you've time."
"Yes, cook," replied Delight meekly, sliding the two left-over sausages into the simmering beaded liquid.
Mrs. Bye was a tall, thin, unbelievably active woman of forty. She had a hatchet face, prominent bright blue eyes, a large nose, and a chin that receded slightly. She had long ago lost a front tooth, and its fellow, moving gradually forward to fill the space, now occupied the centre of her jaw, projecting slightly and giving her face the expression of a very eager squirrel. Her natural pallor was changed for the flush that always came to her cheeks at meal-time, for she was excitable, anxious and fearful of Mrs. Jessop whom she fancied was not friendly towards her.
The kitchen was terribly hot, the stove-lids pinkish from the coals that Charley had heaped beneath them. The girls were all talking at once, old Davy and Charley were dragging their chairs noisily across the bare floor, and Queenie, the Byes' only child, was marching up and down the length of the kitchen singing her newest kindergarten song at the top of her lungs. She was nearly six years old and had inherited Charley's classic regularity of feature, his fair, almost transparent skin, and his clumsy body. But nature had withheld from her the proper palate with which Charley was endowed, so that Queenie's marching song, while spirited, for she never sang and marched so well as in the high tide of excitement in the kitchen, came haltingly as to words. She sang:
"We aw mar'h toge'her,
We aw mar'h toge'her,
We aw mar'h toge'her,
Nih'ly in a waow."
With uplifted face, starry eyes, and flaxen hair flying, she swept past the minions that slaved about her, under trays, under kettles of boiling water, under scuttles of coal, she passed unscathed. If only she could have taken this splendid hauteur with her to school where, because of her affliction, she was the butt of the class, returning home in tears, day after day, chased to the very door by children who took her slate pencils, pulled her hair, and mimicked her unintelligible speech!
"Will you have some haddie?" asked Mrs. Bye, treating Delight as a guest. "And potatoes?"
"Yes, please."
"I don't s'pose you'd like any porridge?" This was said with a certain aggressiveness.
"Oh, Mrs. Bye, it wasn't my fault about the porridge, truly. The men just fancied Forces this morning. They'll be back to their porridge right enough tomorrow."
"Well, for goodness sake try to get them back or we'll have housekeeper after us."
They sat down with dishes of hot food before them. Annie, her sleek dark head bent in a listening posture, kept one ear open for a step in the dining-room. Pearl, a fat girl, with sleepy hazel eyes, slowly consumed a large bowl of porridge and milk. Mrs. Bye rarely ate anything but bread and tea. She called coaxingly to Queenie:
"Come along, my poppet, and have a nice boiled egg."
"Naow," replied Queenie, shaking her head, "ah wanha mar'h."
"She's contankerous like all females," observed Charley, withdrawing a long fish-bone from his mouth. "They're all alike. As I was a-remarking to my woife a bit ago, women is all kittle-cattle, and you can't get away from it. I'm the man as knows, for I had a first woife and foive daughters, a second woife and a daughter, her as you see paradin' herself this minute, and I live in this kitchen surrounded by women, like a oasis in a desert, and I say they're kittle-cattle, and the less a man has to do with any one on 'em the better for his natur', human and otherwise."
"Aw, Mr. Bye, you don't really mean that," said Pearl.
"I allers stick up for the women," said old Davy. "What is a home without a wife? I say it's a hotel without a bar."
"Good, good!" said Pearl. "Davy's got you there, Mr. Bye."
"I grant that's true," said Charley, "but the bar's where all the trouble begins, isn't it? All the contankerousness and noise. I don't ask for anything but peace. I'd like to be back in the Old Land in my truck garden, I would, and breedin' rabbits. I had one old buck rabbit there, that had a natur' so like my own that we was more like brothers than man and rabbit. He felt just the same as I did about the female of the species. And when I think of my lettuces and cabbages settin' there, day arter day, in the same place, just where I'd put them, it brings the tears to my eyes."
A red-headed boy looked in at the door. "Bill Bastien wants you, Charley," he said. "And he says be sharp about it."
Charley filled his mouth with the last of his fried potatoes, emptied his coffee-cup, and got heavily to his feet. He tripped over his own toes as he went out, leaving a smile on the faces of those behind him.
"One would think he was simple to hear him talk about his cabbages and all," said Mrs. Bye apologetically, "but he's got a grand head for business, I can tell you that."
"He has," agreed old Davy admiringly. "When him and me carry anything together, I always get the heavy end, and I never know how he manages it."
The sound of footsteps came from the dining-room. Annie quickly wiped her lips and fingers and went in. Mrs. Bye stirred the porridge and put fresh tea to steep. Old Davy returned to his stable. Pearl continued placidly to eat greasy, hashed potatoes. Delight snatched up Queenie and carried her to the window.
"You're a rum little kiddie," she said, looking into her upturned face.
"Ah hi poo."
"Do you? I like you too, if that's what you're saying. Can you count? Let's hear you count."
"Wa—poo—pee—paw—pi—pih—pebbin—"
"My word, you're fond of p's, ain't you?"
"Ay. Ah hi poo." And she clutched her neck and kissed her.
Annie rushed in with her tray. "Come along, Delight, you're needed. The whole troupe's there, and three of the second-floor boarders. Put the kid down and get a move on. Three ham and eggs, and two fish, cook. My goodness, you ought to see the troupe. Dr. De Silva and his College Girls. Funny-lookin' college girls. You ought to see the fat one with a yellow wig and a dirty pink kimono. That coffee hot?"
The tables had been cleared, the floor swept, the crumbs taken up, and the two canaries brought out to have their cages cleaned, before Delight had a chance to speak to May. Suddenly she saw her in the dark cavern of the backstairs. She had set down her mop and pail, and was looking down at Delight with an expression of anxious appeal.
"I'll be back and finish these cages in a minute," said the girl to Mrs. Bye. "I must run up to my room for something."
She could hear May's breath coming in little gasps, as she stood beside her in the dark stairway.
"Oh," she panted, "I didn't get no chance to come down before. That awful old Jessop stuck to me like a leech. Did you find 'im?"
"No."
"Ow, my Gawd, 'e's gone! I may never find 'im in this unnatural country!"
"Don't you take on, May. I know where he is. Boarding in a house up near the station." She put her strong arm around her friend and supported her. "Don't take on! We'll find him."
May rested her head on Delight's shoulder, still grasping her mop. "'Ow did you find out where 'e's gone?"
"Why, there was a nice chubby boy in there that I made sure was Albert. He had baby-blue eyes, and I smiled at him, and when he smiled back, there was his teeth a bit apart like you said, and I whispered—'Remember your May,' and if he didn't think I was trying to say he might be sweet on me. He stopped after the others had gone, then I found out he wasn't Albert, and I got out of him where Albert lives."
"You didn't tell 'im about me, did you?"
"He never asked. He was pretty well amazed. He's a simple lad. I'll look after him, May."
"Oh, Delight, 'ow can I ever get a'old of Albert tonight?"
"Look here. There's a closet between the dining-room and the bar! It's a dark, narrow one and it isn't often used now. It has a little frosted glass window in the wall where drinks used to be handed through for the dining-room. And, look here, May, some Nosey Parker of a girl has scraped a bit of the frosting off the pane, just enough to fit the eye, and what's to prevent you hiding in there tonight and watching for your boy? You say he likes his glass."
"Oh, 'e does, and 'e's a little terror all right w'en 'e's got a bit more than 'e can carry."
"Well, get him before he takes that much. Scratch on the pane like a little mouse." In the dusk of the stairway her long eyes were glistening with mischief. "Oo—May, it'd be fun! I wish you'd let me do it for you."
May passed the day in a waking dream. Before her, as she dusted banisters, polished looking-glasses, and slid her mop over linoleums, floated the round face of Albert. The cast in his left eye gave the face an elusive, almost sinister appearance. He seemed to be looking two ways at once, accusingly at her with one eye, shiftily away from her with the other. She saw this face in shining doorknobs, in mirrors, in the puddles on the linoleum. She felt that if she did not see the real face soon she would go mad. Yet she worked on doggedly. Mrs. Jessop was pleased with her. She liked her better than Delight, whom she suspected of being "worth watching."
It was eight o'clock before she was able to go to her bedroom. Mrs. Bye was in her room next door putting Queenie to bed. May could hear the child's little voice piping—
"Ow I ay ee ow oo peep
Paya Lor' my ho oo heep."
She heard Mrs. Bye say: "Now, Lovey, hop straight in and go bye-bye."
She could picture Queenie hopping on to her mattress on the floor in the corner of the room next the stovepipe. For a moment the vision of Albert was gone, she breathed more easily. Then it danced before her again in the lamplight and her heart began to pound in her throat. Hastily she pulled off her working dress and put on a blue one of cheap silk, with a velvet girdle and a lace collar fastened by a gilt bar pin on which two little gilt birds perched, one of Albert's presents. She put on high-heeled shoes that hurt her, and back-combed the hair about her ears till it framed her frightened face like a fabulous halo.
She turned out the light and crept down the backstairs. The kitchen was empty save for old Davy who was poring over the pages of "The Family Herald," moving his grey unshaven lips as he read some tale of high life. The other girls were in the scullery. Annie and Pearl were wrestling like two boys while Delight sat perched on a table clapping her hands and singing an old Somerset Fair song she had from her Granny.
May stole into the dining-room, and passed from there into the narrow cupboard behind the bar. It was pitch-dark there except for the golden square of the frosted window. The business of the evening was in full swing on the other side of the glass. May soon found the little transparent spot scratched by the nail of some other curious girl. She must have been a tall girl, for it was necessary for May to stand on her toes to see through it. It flashed through her mind that perhaps Delight had been up to her tricks already. . . .
May put her eye to the spot. She could not see very much at first, for a man had moved almost directly in front, and his hand, curving about a glass, rose before her anxious eyes like some symbol of a quest. It was a dark supple hand, and on it gleamed a diamond ring. Whoever he was he imbibed his drink slowly. The hand would rise, remaining but long enough for a sip. May watched the fall of the amber liquid in the glass, as a skipper watches the barometer in stressful weather. A steady jargon of voices came to her stabbed by sudden gusts of laughter. . . .
Suddenly the man moved. Now he was gone and the length of the bar stretched before her. It was almost full of men. Her eyes flew from one face to another in search of Albert. If only they had stood quite still, but they moved to make way for newcomers. Charley tottered in and out carrying trays to the private rooms, twice Bastien passed before her vision in his white apron, his head forward, his teeth gleaming, a corkscrew in his hand. With the constant dissolving and resetting of the picture before her, and her strained position, her head began to ache and her eyes to burn, but she never ceased watching. At last he came. . . .
Short, thickset, with a bullet head under a tweed cap, he entered alone. He went to the counter and bought a glass of beer from young Steve, the assistant bartender.
All May's anxiety and suspicion flamed into joyous love at the sight of him. She felt as though her body had become a burning torch inside the dark cupboard, that the blaze of her must shine through into the bar.
Albert absorbed his beer solemnly while he listened to something Steve was saying to Kirke and Lovering who were leaning against the counter together. May rivetted her eye on him and tried to force him to come towards her. But he did not move. Then right beside her window a man's voice called—"Masters"—and Albert came and stood almost against the glass. May's eye looked directly on to his ear. "Albert, oh, Albert," she moaned under her breath. "Oh, my dearie, look round at me. 'Ere I am."
Cautiously she tried the window to see if it would rise. She slid it up an inch. Her mouth to the crack, she sighed. She sighed again more loudly. She breathed his name. He put his hand behind his shoulder and twiddled his fingers. Oh, what devils men were! But perhaps he guessed it was she.
"Come 'ere," she said softly.
In a second he had left the window. A moment more and she heard his hand fumbling softly for the handle of the cupboard door. It closed behind him. She had him in her arms, clutched to her breast, kissing him violently, savagely, her own Albert. He struggled feebly, then succumbed.
"My word," he gasped, "you're a 'ot 'un."
"Oh, Albert, my 'usband," she said chokily, "my own dearie."
The words went through his body like an electric shock. He tore himself from her grasp. In the pallid light of the frosted window his face showed as a staring disk with distorted features. He looked like the man in the moon.
"Albert, don't you know me?"
"My Gawd!" He grasped his head between his hands and rocked himself in bewilderment. "You, M'y—you!"
"Yes, me. W'y not? Oh, Albert, don't be frightened. Did you think I was a ghos'? My goodness, it's only your own little May come to you! Your nerves are shockin' bad, ain't they, dearie?" She wrapped her arms about him again.
"'Ow the 'ell did you come 'ere?" he demanded, trying again to extricate himself. She held him to her firmly, her hands clasped between his shoulder blades.
"I couldn't wait no longer. I reely couldn't. And I saved—pinched and saved. And there was a guessing contest and I won the prize—five pounds; and I found a stone out of a ring on the street and got a reward—three pounds more—oh, Albert, everything's been comin' my w'y! And now I've come yours—to st'y, for ever and ever. Say you're glad."
"Glad—" he moaned—"'ow the 'ell can I be glad! You 'ave made a bloody mess o' things! Well, you may just as well 'ave it now as any time, M'y! I'm married. Yus. To a gal out 'ere. In this town. 'Ave you got that in yer noddle? I'm married. Now don't go screamin' or you'll 'ave the 'ole bloomin' bar in 'ere. 'Ang on to yerself. It weren't my fault. She reg'larly chivied me into it. Now you know."
Her arms had dropped from him like the antennæ of a devil-fish when the body has been wounded. He breathed more freely and peered through the dimness to see her face. If his had looked like the full moon, hers was now its shrunken, wan, last quarter.
"Married," she repeated. "You went and got married. And me in England, believin' you was savin' for me to come out to you! Me comin' out, filled with a fool's pride 'cause I'd saved enough to get me passage and buy a few sticks of furniture for us to begin with! Married! You call that married! I call it adulatory. She ain't your wife. I'm your wife. You brute. You dirty, low, little brute."
"Keep yer voice down, for Gawd's sake! Do you want me arrested? 'Ow! M'y, you don't understand."
"Understand! Understand! I understand that you've committed bigermy, and I'll 'ave the law of yer! You miserable, connivin' little brute."
"'Ow, I know it's orful for you," he moaned, "but I didn't go fer to do it—she chivied me inter it. I wish I'd never seen 'er ugly red 'ead, I do."
"Red 'ead," repeated May dully. "I can't 'ardly believe it. Red 'ead on the piller beside yours. . . . Wot's 'er nime?"
"Ader."
"Ader. Ader wot?"
"Ader Masters."
"Liar—" screamed May. "It ain't Masters! She ain't yer wife. I'm yer wife. I'll 'ave 'er in the gaol to-morrer!"
Luckily a sudden roar of voices from the bar deadened her scream. Suddenly Albert dropped on his knees before her, clutching her legs and hiding his face in her skirt.
"She's a regular baggage, she are," he moaned. "She leads me a life. If you're crool to me, I'll just goin' make w'y wiv myself." His shoulders began to heave. The smell of the tannery rose to her from his kneeling body. There was no air in the dark little room. She was stifling. Sweat trickled from her forehead and mingled with the tears on her cheeks. The feel of him kneeling there sobbing wrung her heart. Mechanically she began to stroke his head.
"And me eatin' my 'eart out in old London for you," she said in a strange, thick voice.
"That's orl very well in old London." He wagged his head resentfully. "But it's another story 'ere. Wot wiv the bloomin' climate, and the stink of the vats allus in a feller's nose, 'e ain't responsible for wot 'e does. As for me, I'm that derbilitated that I'm scared o' me own shadder."
"You weren't scared to tike a second wife."
"That was just it. I was scared. I took 'er fer peace sike. She wouldn't let me be. She worked in the jam factory and 'er 'ome was in one o' them cottages be'ind the hotel and she'd 'ang around no matter wot the weather was and walk to and fro wiv me and twinkle 'er eyes at me in a w'y—ow, you've no idear—w'y she arsked me to marry 'er, now I come to think of it!"
"'Ad she a reason?"
"Nao. None but 'er own cussedness. She was out to get married and I was the man 'er fawncy lit on."
"'Ow long ago was this?"
"Six months."
"Six months out of my life she's taken! And I don't s'pose she sets half the store on you I did." She slid to the floor beside him, her back against the wall, trembling from weakness.
His arm slid about her. "She don't set no store by me at all. 'Er one idear is to get all she can out o' me. She's a hard 'un, she is. Talk about bigermy—if she knowed about you she'd 'ave me clapped in gaol before you could say scat—and you'd be disgriced in this bloomin' country!"
They sat in silence now, two little cockney animals that had crept into this dark burrow out of the storm. His lips sought hers. He stroked her cheek. Like a solemn threnody the voices in the bar surged over them. They might have been at the bottom of the sea.
Delight was sitting before the chest of drawers, with her Granny's apple-green tea-set spread out before her, when May entered. She turned towards her, a happy smile curving her lips.
"What do you s'pose, May?" she said. "Not a blessed cup or saucer's been chipped. Even the tea-pot spout never got a nick. . . . Oh, for goodness sake! What's up?"
May stood before her, glassy-eyed, with a terrible twist to her mouth. "I've seen 'im," she answered, in a queer coughing way.
"Oh, Albert, eh? Wasn't he nice to you, May?"
"Nice to me! Listen to the girl! Ow, yes, 'e was nice to me! Very nice to me, 'e was! Loverly to me, I'd s'y, if the queen came around in 'er carriage and ast me."
"May, are you crazy?"
"Small wonder if I was. Wot do you s'pose that 'e's done but get married! To a Canidian girl out 'ere. Married and livin' with 'er this six months. Ader, 'er nime is. Red-'aired."
Delight flew to her and would have folded her in her arms but May backed from her till she stood against the bedroom door. She stretched her arms upon it and broke into hysterical laughter. "Ow, 'e's made a proper wreck of me, 'e 'as!" she laughed, "ain't it a joke?"
"Hang on to yourself," said Delight, "or you'll have the others in. Shall I throw cold water on you now?"
Quick steps were coming from the next room. Mrs. Bye pushed the door open, and looked round it at May. At the sight of her May laughed louder than ever. "Married, ain't yer?" she cried. "Are you sure you're married?"
Mrs. Bye shut the door and took her by the arm. "May, May," she said. "You'll have Mrs. Jessop in. Do quieten yourself."
"I tell her the others'll all be getting oop," said Delight. "I was just going to empty a mug of water on her."
May was calmed by the sight of Mrs. Bye. She sat down on the side of the bed and pressed back the damp hair from her forehead. "It's just a touch of hystrikes," she said. "I've 'ad them before, 'aven't I, Delight?"
Mrs. Bye brought her a mug of water and patted her back as she drank it. The motherly touch had a softening effect. May laid her head against Mrs. Bye and sobbed like a little child.
"If it's anything to do with a man, don't waste your tears now," said the cook. "Save them till you're married. You'll need them worse, then." She nodded her head wisely, looking almost like a girl with her ugly kitchen dress exchanged for a long blue wrapper over her nightgown and a little pigtail down her back.
Charley had come up to bed, and, hearing his wife's voice in the girls' bedroom, he gave the door a thump and said:
"Come along to bed, missus. D'ye want me to be losing my rest when you well know how early I must rise?"
"In a moment," answered Mrs. Bye.
"Is it some fellow that had promised her in the Old Land?" she asked of Delight. "Don't tell me if May had rather not. I don't want to pry, dear knows."
"Well, they were all but promised," answered Delight cautiously. "But now she's coom over, he is trying to back out."
May sobbed. "He's my cousin."
"Well, then, be glad you're shut of him," said Mrs. Bye. "I don't approve of cousins marryin'. Nature never intended that we should overdo relations that way, and if we do, likely as not, the children'll come underdone."
"You'd think marriage was a pie to hear you talk," said Delight.
"It's a pie you'd better keep your finger out of, till you're a bit more sensible."
"Me?" cried Delight. "I'm as sensible as can be. It'd take more than a jilting to upset me."
Charley thumped on the wall. "Missus! Missus!" he called. "Be you going to gadabout all night?"
"Please don't tell the other girls anything of this," implored May. "I couldn't bear it."
"Never a breath," said Mrs. Bye. "And you put your cousin out of your mind. There's other nice young fellers here that 'ud like nothing better than to walk out with a smart-looking girl like you." She whisked out with her long stride to her own room, exactly as though it were an oven and Charley a cake burning.
"I wonder what relation they were," mused Delight.
"Who?"
"Why, cook and Charley. Look at Queenie. She's a bit queer. No roof to her mouth, I mean, and all."
"Oh, you silly! I've got a brother whose toes are all webbed jus' like a duck's and my parents was no more relation than 'Enery the Eighth and the Queen of Sheba."
Delight persisted. "Well, anyway, May, since Albert is your cousin—"
"E's not my cousin, but I've promised 'im to s'y 'e is for the time being."
"Where's the use?"
"Oh, well, we'll be able to meet and talk things over. Folk won't be suspicious if they think we're cousins."
Delight was scornful. "You promised him to keep quiet, eh? After what he's done to you!"
May threw herself back on her pillow, her face swollen from crying, her eyes bloodshot. "You just wait, my beauty, till you're in a fix like this with a man some d'y. You don't know what you'd do. You don't know anythink."
Delight hung over the foot of the bed looking down at her. "I know I'd never, never promise—"
"Oh, shut up! I'd ha' promised 'im anything down in that dark cubby 'ole."
"Well, o' course, if you're going to let him get around you."
"You'd have done the sime, Delight. 'E reely is charmin'. 'E just 'ung on to me and cried like a little child. 'E says 'e's that debilertated wiv the climate and all that 'e's scared of 'is own shadder, pore lad."
Between pity for him and pity for her own plight May's tears fell like rain on the pillow. Delight helped her to undress and put her into bed, then thoughtfully set away her Granny's tea-set. The house was quiet, save for Charley's sonorous snore in the next room, and the occasional stamp of a horse in the stable. She sat with her chin on her hand, staring at her reflection in the spotted looking-glass. She smiled sleepily at herself, glad that she was still her very own, that no man had the power to make her promise unnatural things in a stuffy little cubby hole, and then cry herself to sleep.