The general feeling was that Jane would be more convenient, that Mary made less demand on the brain, that Ellen had the advantage of having been the title of her immediate predecessor, but she proved stern and adamant in regard to the detail, and the graceful thing to do was to give in for the moment with a secret promise to make an alteration later on. When the time came for revision, it was found that no other title but that of Irene could possibly be given. The name fitted as though she had been measured for it. An impression that it could only belong to stately and slightly offended young women on the pages of sixpenny fashion journals, vanished.
“Previous to me coming here,” Irene sometimes explained in the minute and a half given to conversation whilst clearing breakfast, “I was in a business establishment. Two year I put in there, I did, and then my ’ealth give p. 182way. Otherwise I should never have dreamt of going into domestic service. I’ve been used to ’aving my evenings to myself!”
By chance, it was ascertained that the time which elapsed after leaving school had been devoted to a mineral water manufactory: this discovery reflected no credit upon any of the boarders, being indeed the result of a chance remark made by her on seeing a two-horse cart belonging to the firm go through the square. A closer reticence was shown in regard to her family; Irene did, however, convey, at times, a hint that the members had seen better and more prosperous days, and that distinguished ancestors would betray signs of restlessness did they become aware that she occupied a position that brought in but ￡12 a year, giving freedom only on Thursday evening and alternate Sunday afternoons. “But we never know what’s in store for us,” she remarked, with a touch of fatalism. “It’s all ordained, I suppose. What I mean to say is, everything’s planned out, only that we don’t know it. Just as well, perhaps.”
Her appearance in the earlier days gave no signal of noble birth. She wore the corkscrew curls fashionable in her neighbourhood, and her efforts in hairdressing ceased at about half-way to the back of her head; the rest being a casual knot insecurely tied. Many things go awry in this world, but few were p. 183so unlucky as Irene’s apron, which appeared to be the sport and play of chance, going to various points of the compass, sometimes becoming fixed due west. She seemed to have a prejudice against safety pins. With her, hooks and eyes lived indiscriminately, and never as precise, well-ordered couples. On first assuming the white cap (against the use of which she made desperate opposition), she wore it rakishly over one eye, and being reproved, answered lightly that this was one of those matters which would be forgotten a hundred years hence. A girl more completely furnished with the easy platitudes that turn away wrath surely never existed. In generous mood, she gave them away by the dozen.
“One ’alf of the world doesn’t know how the other ’alf lives; it’s a poor ’eart that never rejoices; there’s none so blind as them that won’t see; a bird in the ’and’s worth two in the bush; and that’s all about it!”
You must not assume that Irene gave up a large amount of her time to conversation. She started work at twenty to seven in the morning, and if half-past four in the afternoon found her ready (in her own phrase) to pop upstairs and change, she counted she had scored a victory. After tea came duties of a more leisurely nature such as ironing, and later still—if luck favoured—a brief opportunity for the study of literature, from which she came in such a dazed, confused state of p. 184mind, that for the subsequent twenty minutes she could only give answers that possessed a conspicuous amount of incoherence. Those who have seen her with a number of “The Belgravia Novelette” report that her lips moved silently as she read the lines, that her features indicated, unconsciously, the emotions affecting each character: when a lady had to reject the advances of some unwelcome suitor (a frequent occurrence in the world of fiction where Mr. A., liking Miss B., finds this converted into ardent love when she announces she hates him with a hate that can never die), then Irene’s face showed stern and uncompromising decision: when a landscape artist proclaimed an affection he had hitherto concealed, her eyes half closed, and her head went gently to and fro.
It is likely the pictures which accompanied these agreeable stories had some influence, although the fact that the people always wore evening dress prevented Irene from imitating every detail. The corkscrew curls, brought forward at each side of the face from a definite and decided parting, were brushed back. Irene was observed one night at about eight, on her return from commissariat duties in connection with next morning’s breakfast, staring earnestly at the head which, in a window, revolved slowly, vanishing and re-appearing with a fixed, haughty smile. A youth came up and made some remarks.
p. 185“Don’t you address conversation to any one what you haven’t been introduced to,” she ordered, warmly.
“Carry your parcel for you?”
“Thanks,” replied Irene, “but I don’t want to lose it.”
The youth, declining to take this as a repulse, followed, and Irene’s mistress reproved her for entering the house at the front door when the area gate was open. The very next day a fresh and daring experiment was made by fixing a white collar around the neck, and this was succeeded in the evening by a pair of cuffs. She seemed pleased with the general effect, and hastened to answer some knocks and rings at the front door instead of compelling every caller to repeat the summons. One of these she received with great curtness.
“No, the name don’t live here.”
“Beg pardon!” said a youth’s deep voice. “Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.”
“Quite likely. Judging from your appearance.”
“Doing any shopping to-night, miss?”
Her mistress appealed to her by name, and she closed the door, explaining a few minutes later that she could not help feeling sorry for the poor fellows who had to sell combs and hair-brushes; at the same time, they had no right to annoy people who had work to do beside answering knocks. Later, her mistress p. 186asked her to refrain from singing. Irene’s voice would never have taken her to the concert platform, but her theory of music was so excellent that it may be worth while to give some particulars here. When affairs of the world went crooked, with her mistress temporarily short in temper, streets becoming muddy directly that the front step had been whitened, disaster on the stairs with a breakfast tray, then Irene selected airs of the cheeriest description, bursting into:
“When Jones, my friend, came round to me,
He said, ‘Will you go on the spree?’
I answered ‘Yes, of course I will,
That is, if you will pay the bill.’”
and other songs of a rollicking nature. On the other hand, when the world went smoothly and nothing happened of a contrary nature and her mistress had given her an egg with her tea, then Irene’s voice came lugubriously up from the basement:
“Oh I ne’er shall see my loved one any mower,
For I’m leaving her and Britain’s gallant shower,
Though my tears are gently falling, yet I hear her voice a-calling,
But I ne............