Miss Tessitt grew suddenly stiff all over. The umbrella remained suspended above the steps, as though frozen with horror. The round eyes widened, and stared at Sophia.

‘Not old Mrs Barker of Cannon’s End?’

‘She does live in Cannon’s End. Why?’

‘Oh dear, Ay am afraid Ay could never work comfortably for a lady who had old Mrs Barker. She is a dreadful old woman. Ay often see her about. It always seems dreadful to may that a woman could let herself Sink So Low, does it not? Whay, the police have told her that if she does not clean ’erself up, she must leave the neighbour’ood. Oh dear, Ay hope she does not come here very often?’

‘Twice a week, on Wednesdays and Saturdays,’ said Sophia, looking at her. She was thinking how much nicer was old Mrs Barker than Miss Tessitt, despite the latter’s honesty, realiability and cleanliness.

‘Well, Ay shall not be here until long after she ’as gone, Ay ’ope. Ay shall not be able to get here until twelve o’clock. It upsets may for the rest of the day if Ay have to get up early.’

So Miss Tessitt went away, having planted her standards of living firmly on the soil of the cottage, and begun as she meant to go on.

Sophia went upstairs to her bedroom, and pulled an old padded box covered with a faded brocade to the window. She sat down on it, and leaning her elbows on the sill, stared out into the twilight.

These were the times when she most loved the cottage, when she was alone, surrounded by objects which she loved, by memories, by the thoughts of her absent brothers and friends. Her tiring day’s work, and the managing and catering and washing-up which she had to do at home, were all steps which led to these short times of peace and solitary dreaming.

Lovers passed below her window, entwined and silent, or sauntering a little apart and teasing each other in the ringing jeering tone which trembles on the edge of passion and silence. The thrush was dark against the slowly darkening sky, with his lifted head and quivering throat among the aerial buds, singing and singing in the twilight while the clear yellow, the green and rose of sunset fell lower in the west and threw light on the dim white clouds in the east. Star and song, solitude and the voices and footsteps of lovers under her window! Dreaming, she sat there until night had come.

CHAPTER XII

A period of happiness and apparent prosperity now set in for the inhabitants of the cottage. It may be compared to that burst of radiant hot weather which precedes a thunderstorm.

‘The Racket’ was produced, and was such a success that even the gloomiest persons predicted that it would run through the summer slump until next Christmas. Sophia earned four guineas by writing a series of articles on ‘Canadian Landmarks in London’ for the C.N.A., and another half-guinea for a poem which she sent to a weekly paper. This was the first poem she had had published. The sight of it in print with her name at the bottom gave her so much joy that for days she thought about little else. Francis liked his job at Graby & Bryant’s and seemed to be giving satisfaction to his superiors. Rent and wages and the bill for the milk were paid at once; and the land flowed with sausages, new gramophone records and fresh flowers.