But in Sophia these misgivings were swallowed in immense pity, and a sense of shame that another human being should be so small, dirty and piteously unpleasant. She felt as though she were to blame for this old woman, and that she must do everything she could to atone to her for her condition.

She said enthusiastically.

‘Yes, it looks very nice. It’s drying white already. Thank you very much. Will you have your tea now?’

The old woman, proudly looking at the smeary step, said that she would; and Sophia sternly chose a clean, shining cup and saucer, made a little pot of fresh China tea, let it stand for a few moments and then handed a full cup with plenty of milk and two lumps of sugar.

‘Here you are. It’s nice and hot. May I know your name, please?’

‘Mrs Barker. I live up Cannon’s End. Got two rooms in a house there. Beetles! You ought to see the beetles we got! Thank you, dear; that’ll do lovely.’

After her first sip of the tea, an expression which can only be described as reserved fell upon Mrs Barker’s face. She said no more. She indicated to Sophia, with gestures, that she would not interrupt her in the housework, that she would stay outside to drink her tea, that she would put the empty cup down on the window sill when she had finished. To give point to her protestations, she began delicately to shut the door.

Sophia, who had a busy morning in front of her, was relieved. Perhaps she was not going to be such a nuisance after all. She gave her the one and sixpence, closed the door upon her, and went into the bathroom to wash stockings.

Half an hour later, swinging her shopping basket, she left the house to buy her weekend provisions.

The cup and saucer stood on the window sill, the cup tactfully turned upside down, the dirty grey step was dry, and Mrs Barker had gone.

But Sophia’s eyes had the habit of reporting countless seemingly unimportant details to her brain, and they informed her that someone had recently poured away a cup of tea in the gutter.

Apparently Mrs Barker did not appreciate the flavour of China tea.

Nevertheless, she became a confirmed pensioner of the cottage, with one or two unfortunate results. For instance, Sophia could never hope to display a snow-white step which should be a credit to the Vale; it was always grey and smeary, and she never dared to hint to Mrs Barker that it was not all it should be, for fear of hurting Mrs Barker’s feelings.

Then she had to buy a quarter of a pound of Lyons’ second-best tea for Mrs Barker’s private use; and the effect of Mrs Barker’s age, size, dirt and misery upon Harry was the most disastrous consequence of all, for he could never see her without turning out his pockets and giving her all his small change, in a passion of chivalry and embarrassment. As he usually carried anything from one and fourpence halfpenny to three and elevenpence, Mrs Barker did very well out of these encounters, and would station herself at likely corners in the hope of waylaying him, lurking outside the Tube station in the morning and mutely planting herself in his path on his way to rehearsal.