'Oh, dear, dear, dear!' exclaimed the other rapidly, making a motion with her hand as if to brush away something disagreeable. 'That will never do. You must put a stop to that.'
'I am sure we ought to.'
Virginia's thin, timid voice and weak manner were thrown into painful contrast by Miss Nunn's personality.
'Yes, yes; we will talk about it presently. Poor little Monica! But do tell me about yourself and Miss Madden. It is so long since I heard about you.'
'Indeed I ought to have written. I remember that at the end of our correspondence I remained in your debt. But it was a troublesome and depressing time with me. I had nothing but groans and moans to send.'
'You didn't stay long, I trust, with that trying Mrs. Carr?'
'Three years!' sighed Virginia.
'Oh, your patience!'
'I wished to leave again and again. But at the end she always begged me not to desert herthat was how she put it. After all, I never had the heart to go.'
'Very kind of you, butthose questions are so difficult to decide. Self-sacrifice may be quite wrong, I'm afraid.'
'Do you think so?' asked Virginia anxiously.
'Yes, I am sure it is often wrongall the more so because people proclaim it a virtue without any reference to circumstances. Then how did you get away at last?'
'The poor woman died. Then I had a place scarcely less disagreeable. Now I have none at all; but I really must find one very soon.'
She laughed at this allusion to her poverty, and made nervous motions.
'Let me tell you what my own course has been,' said Miss Nunn, after a short reflection. 'When my mother died, I determined to have done with teachingyou know that. I disliked it too much, and partly, of course, because I was incapable. Half my teaching was a shama pretence of knowing what I neither knew nor cared to know. I had gone into it like most girls, as a dreary matter of course.'
'Like poor Alice, I'm afraid.'
'Oh, it's a distressing subject. When my mother left me that little sum of money I took a bold step. I went to Bristol to learn everything I could that would help me out of school life. Shorthand, book-keeping, commercial correspondenceI had lessons in them all, and worked desperately for a year. It did me good; at the end of the year I was vastly improved in health, and felt myself worth something in the world. I got a place as cashier in a large shop. That soon tired me, and by dint of advertising I found a place in an office at Bath. It was a move towards London, and I couldn't rest till I had come the whole way. My first engagement here was as shorthand writer to the secretary of a company. But he soon wanted some one who could use a typewriter. That was a suggestion. I went to learn typewriting, and the lady who taught me asked me in the end to stay with her as an assistant. This is her house, and here I live with her.'
'How energetic you have been!'
'How fortunate, perhaps. I must tell you about this ladyMiss Barfoot. She has private meansnot large, but sufficient to allow of her combining benevolence with business. She makes it her object to train young girls for work in offices, teaching them the things that I learnt in Bristol, and typewriting as well. Some pay for their lessons, and some get them for nothing. Our workrooms are in Great Portland Street, over a picture-cleaner's shop. One or two girls have evening lessons, but our pupils for the most part are able to come in the day. Miss Barfoot hasn't much interest in the lower classes; she wishes to be of use to the daughters of educated people. And she is of use. She is doing admirable work.'
'Oh, I am sure she must be! What a wonderful person!'
'It occurs to me that she might help Monica.'
'Oh, do you think she would?' exclaimed Virginia, with eager attention. 'How grateful we should be!'
'Where is Monica employed?'
'At a draper's in Walworth Road. She is worked to death. Every week I see a difference in her, poor child. We hoped to persuade her to go back to the shop at Weston; but if this you speak of were possiblehow much better! We have never reconciled ourselves to her being in that positionnever.'
'I see no harm in the position itself,' replied Miss Nunn in her rather blunt tone, 'but I see a great deal in those outrageous hours. She won't easily do better in London, without special qualifications; and probably she is reluctant to go back to the country.'
'Yes, she is; very reluctant.'
'I understand it,' said the other, with a nod. 'Will you ask her to come and see me?'
A servant entered with tea. Miss Nunn caught the expression in her visitor's eyes, and said cheerfully
'I had no midday meal to-day, and really I feel the omission. Mary, please do put tea in the dining-room, and bring up some meatMiss Barfoot,' she added, in explanation to Virginia, is out of town, and I am a shockingly irregular person about meals. I am sure you will sit down with me?'
Virginia sported with the subject. Months of miserable eating and drinking in her stuffy bedroom made an invitation such as this a veritable delight to her. Seated in the dining-room, she at first refused the offer of meat, alleging her vegetarianism; but Miss Nunn, convinced that the poor woman was starving, succeeded in persuading her. A slice of good beef had much the same effect upon Virginia as her more dangerous indulgence at Charing Cross Station. She brightened wonderfully.
'Now let us go back to the library,' said Miss Nunn, when their meal was over. 'We shall soon see each other again, I hope, but we might as well talk of serious things whilst we have the opportunity. Will you allow me to be very frank with you?'
The other looked startled.
'What could you possibly say that would offend me?'
'In the old days you told me all about your circumstances. Are they still the same?'
'Precisely the same. Most happily, we have never needed to entrench upon our capital. Whatever happens, we must avoid thatwhatever happens!'
'I quite understand you. But wouldn't it be possible to make a better use of that money? It is eight hundred pounds, I think? Have you never thought of employing it in some practical enterprise?'
Virginia at first shrank in alarm, then trembled deliciously at her friend's bold views.
'Would it be possible? Really? You think'
'I can only suggest, of course. One mustn't argue about others from one's own habit of thought. Heaven forbid'this sounded rather profane to the listener'that I should urge you to do anything you would think rash. But how much better if you could somehow secure independence.'
'Ah, if we could! The very thing we were saying the other day! But how? I have no idea how.'
Miss Nunn seemed to hesitate.
'I don't advise. You mustn't give any weight to what I say, except in so far as your own judgment approves it. But couldn't one open a preparatory school, for instance? At Weston, suppose, where already you know a good many people. Or even at Clevedon.'
Virginia drew in her breath, and it was easy for Miss Nunn to perceive that the proposal went altogether beyond her friend's scope. Impossible, perhaps, to inspire these worn and discouraged women with a particle of her own enterprise. Perchance they altogether lacked ability to manage a school for even the youngest children. She did not press the subject; it might come up on another occasion. Virginia begged for time to think it over; then, remembering her invalid sister, felt that she must not prolong the visit.
'Do take some of these flowers,' said Miss Nunn, collecting a rich nosegay from the vases. 'Let them be my message to your sister. And I should be so glad to see Monica. Sunday is a good time; I am always at home in the afternoon.'
With a fluttering heart Virginia made what haste she could homewards. The interview had filled her with a turmoil of strange new thoughts, which she was impatient to pour forth for Alice's wondering comment. It was the first time in her life that she had spoken with a woman daring enough to think and act for herself.
CHAPTER IV
MONICA'S MAJORITY
In the drapery establishment where Monica Madden worked and lived it was not (as is sometimes the case) positively forbidden to the resident employees to remain at home on Sunday; but they were strongly recommended to make the utmost possible use of that weekly vacation. Herein, no doubt, appeared a laudable regard for their health. Young people, especially young women, who are laboriously engaged in a shop for thirteen hours and a half every weekday, and on Saturday for an average of sixteen, may be supposed to need a Sabbath of open air. Messrs. Scotcher and Co. acted like conscientious men in driving them forth immediately after breakfast, and enjoining upon them not to return until bedtime. By way of well-meaning constraint, it was directed that only the very scantiest meals (plain bread and cheese, in fact) should be supplied to those who did not take advantage of the holiday.
Messrs. Scotcher and Co. were large-minded men. Not only did they insist that the Sunday ought to be used for bodily recreation, but they had no objection whatever to their young friends taking a stroll after closing-time each evening. Nay, so generous and confiding were they, that to each young person they allowed a latchkey. The air of Walworth Road is pure and invigorating about midnight; why should the reposeful ramble be hurried by consideration for weary domestics?
Monica always felt too tired to walk after ten o'clock; moreover, the usual conversation in the dormitory which she shared with five other young women was so little to her taste that she wished to be asleep when the talkers came up to bed. But on Sunday she gladly followed the counsel of her employers. If the weather were bad, the little room at Lavender Hill offered her a retreat; when the sun shone, she liked to spend a part of the day in free wandering about London, which even yet had not quite disillusioned her.
And to-day it shone brightly. This was her birthday, the completion of her one-and-twentieth year. Alice and Virginia of course expected her early in the morning, and of course they were all to dine togetherat the table measuring three feet by one and a half; but the afternoon and evening she must have to herself. The afternoon, because a few hours of her sisters' talk invariably depressed her; and the evening, because she had an appointment to keep. As she left the big ugly 'establishment' her heart beat cheerfully, and a smile fluttered about her lips. She did not feel very well, but that was a matter of course; the ride in an omnibus would perhaps make her head clearer.
Monica's face was of a recognized type of prettiness; a pure oval; from the smooth forehead to the dimpled little chin all its lines were soft and graceful. Her lack of colour, by heightening the effect of black eyebrows and darkly lustrous eyes, gave her at present a more spiritual cast than her character justified; but a thoughtful firmness was native to her lips, and no possibility of smirk or simper lurked in the attractive features. The slim figure was well fitted in a costume of pale blue, cheap but becoming; a modest little hat rested on her black hair; her gloves and her sunshade completed the dainty picture.
An omnibus would be met in Kennington Park Road. On her way thither, in a quiet cross-street, she was overtaken by a young man who had left the house of business a moment after her, and had followed at a short distance timidly. A young man of unhealthy countenance, with a red pimple on the side of his nose, but not otherwise ill-looking. He was clad with proprietystove-pipe hat, diagonal frockcoat, grey trousers, and he walked with a springy gait.
'Miss Madden'
He had ventured, with perturbation in his face, to overtake Monica. She stopped.
'What is it, Mr. Bullivant?'
Her tone was far from encouraging, but the young man smiled upon her with timorous tenderness.
'What a beautiful morning! Are you going far?'
He had the Cockney accent, but not in an offensive degree; his manners were not flagrantly of the shop.
'Yes; some distance.' Monica walked slowly on.
'Will you allow me to walk a little way with you?' he pleaded, bending towards her.
'I shall take the omnibus at the end of this street.'
They went forward together. Monica no longer smiled, but neither did she look angry. Her expression was one of trouble.
'Where shall you spend the day, Mr. Bullivant?' she asked at length, with an effort to seem unconcerned.
'I really don't know.'
'I should think it would be very nice up the river.' And she added diffidently, 'Miss Eade is going to Richmond.'
'Is she?' he replied vaguely.
'At least she wished to goif she could find a companion.'
'I hope she will enjoy herself,' said Mr. Bullivant, with careful civility.
'But of course she won't enjoy it very much if she has to go alone. As you have no particular engagement, Mr. Bullivant, wouldn't it be kind to?'
The suggestion was incomplete, but intelligible.
'I couldn't ask Miss Eade to let me accompany her,' said the young man gravely.
'Oh, I think you could. She would like it.'
Monica looked rather frightened at her boldness, and quickly added
'Now I must say good-bye. There comes the bus.'
Bullivant turned desperately in that direction. He saw there was as yet no inside passenger.
'Do allow me to go a short way with you?' burst from his lips. 'I positively don't know how I shall spend the morning.'
Monica had signalled to the driver, and was hurrying forward. Bullivant followed, reckless of consequences. In a minute both were seated within.
'You will forgive me?' pleaded the young fellow, remarking a look of serious irritation on his companion's face. 'I must be with you a few minutes longer.'
'I think when I have begged you not to'
'I know how bad my behaviour must seem. But, Miss Madden, may I not be on terms of friendship with you?'
'Of course you maybut you are not content with that.'
'YesindeedI will be content'
'It's foolish to say so. Haven't you broken the understanding three or four times?'
The bus stopped for a passenger, a man, who mounted to the top.
'I am so sorry,' murmured Bullivant, as the starting horses jolted them together. 'I try not to worry you. Think of my position. You have told me that there is no one else whowhose rights I ought to respect. Feeling as I do, it isn't in human nature to give up hope!'
'Then will you let me ask you a rude question?'
'Ask me any question, Miss Madden.'
'How would it be possible for you to support a wife?'
She flushed and smiled. Bullivant, dreadfully discomposed, did not move his eyes from her.
'It wouldn't be possible for some time,' he answered in a thick voice. 'I have nothing but my wretched salary. But every one hopes.'
'What reasonable hope have you?' Monica urged, forcing herself to be cruel, because it seemed the only way of putting an end to this situation.
'Oh, there are so many opportunities in our business. I could point to half a dozen successful men who were at the counter a few years ago. I may become a walker, and get at least three pounds a week. If I were lucky enough to be taken on as a buyer, I might makewhy, some make many hundreds a yearmany hundreds.'
'And you would ask me to wait on and on for one of these wonderful chances?'