The new shop which bore the name of Miss Beatrice Bell stood so far up the Kingsland Road, beyond the canal, that you might have said it was in Dalston, and none would have dared offer contradiction.  A happy situation, in that the shop found itself able to at once keep touch with the superior classes of Hoxton and with the middle classes of Dalston; a distinction being made in the two windows, so that Hoxton lady clients on entering turned instinctively to the left counter, whilst those from Dalston turned to the right.  Beatrice Bell, grown to a tall, self-possessed young woman, still in slight mourning for her mother, had the nightly companionship of little Miss Threepenny, and assistance by day from the perky ’Tilderann, whose enthusiasm for the business was equalled by her intolerance of anything likely to interfere with achievement of these ends; her mistress’s habit of buying evening newspapers whenever the placards shouted anything about the Delar expedition, of making customers wait while she read the telegraphic accounts nervously, constituted a weakness that made ’Tilderann groan.  But for these occasional lapses Beatrice Bell had become a shrewd, business-like woman, not only reaching the high standard set by her assistant, but sometimes exceeding it, and extorting from that young woman gracious compliment.  It was indeed worth watching to see and hear Miss Bell deal with some lady of Hoxton who having ideas of her own in regard to a new hat, insisted upon explaining them in detail.  The young proprietress of the establishment would listen with perfect calm whilst the client described the kind of hat which represented her heart’s desire; when she had finished, Miss Bell would say icily, “I quite understand what you mean, but,” here a slight shrug of the shoulders, “they are no longer worn.”  Upon which the lady customer could only ejaculate a confused and abashed “Ho!” and request that something that was being worn should be taken from the window and exhibited to her.

Beatrice Bell, her hands clasped behind her, taking the air at the doorway of her shop, and bowing to acquaintances in the swift crowd of young women hurrying northward to their tea, glanced up and down the busy road with its sailing trams and jerking ’buses.  The hour was seven; the sky still light with a juvenile moon that seemed, with the impatience of youth, to have come out too early.  Dashing young blades of shopkeepers also taking the air at their doorways, caught sight of the white-speckled blouse, and bowed to her, and noting with pain her distant acknowledgment, declared to each other that Miss Bell would stand an p. 119infinitely better chance of getting married were she less reserved in manner, a drawback which had already cheated her of more than one invitation to Epping Forest on early-closing day.  “For,” said Mr. Libbis, the tobacconist, to his friend at the second-hand shop, “she may be as ’aughty as she likes, but after all, mind you, she’s only a girl.”

Opposite, a boy pasted on the boards outside the newspaper shop a new placard: “Brave conduct at Delar.”  She ran across the road to buy a copy of the newspaper; before she returned a customer came to the Hoxton side of the shop demanding something stylish at one-and-eleven.  ’Tilderann fenced with her pending the return of her mistress.

“It occurred to me, looking in the glass,” said the woman confidentially, “that I wanted smartenin’ up.  It may be only me fancy, but it struck me I was beginning to look old.  What d’you think?”

“Depends what you call old,” replied ’Tilderann.  “Sure you can’t run to more than one-and-eleven?”

“Eight year ago, or a trifle more,” said the woman, reminiscently, “I was as light-’earted a young woman as you’d ’ave found in all ’Oxton, if you’d searched for a month.  I was really the rarest one for making jokes that you ever ’eard of before my ’usband, Bat Miller, had to go away.”

“Emigrated?” asked ’Tilderann, glancing between the hats and bonnets for her mistress.

“He were away,” said Mrs. Miller, evasively, “for a matter of four or five year.  And when I went to meet him, believe me or not, he was as stand-offish in his manner as he could he.”

“That’s like ’em,” said ’Tilderann.  “These bonnets at four-and-three are all the go just now.”

“Quite ’igh and mighty if you please,” went on Mrs. Miller aggrievedly.  “And I firmly believe that if I hadn’t had on my best mantle he’d have gone off again, goodness knows where.  As it was, I persuaded him to settle down, and we’ve got on as well as can be expected; only that now and again, when we have a few words, he says something very satirical about the old days in Ely Place.”

“Here she is!” said ’Tilderann.  “Come on, Miss!  ’Ere’s a customer been waiting for howers.”

“Sorry,” remarked Beatrice Bell, panting.  Her pretty face was crimson with excitement; she hugged a pink halfpenny journal to her breast.

“Something at about one-and-eleven, Miss,” said Mrs. Miller respectfully.  “Not too quiet and not too loud, and something that’ll suit my features.”

Miss Bell, trembling oddly, went up the wooden steps and brought down a box containing black hats.

“Anything special, Miss, in the evening paper?” asked Mrs. Bat Miller ingratiatingly.

“Yes,” said Beatrice, panting.

“I of’en ’ave a look at the playcards,” said Mrs. Miller; “they give me about as much information as I want.  Are these the newest shape in this box?”

“Look at the corner of the box,” said Miss Bell, endeavouring to regain her usual composure.  “That’ll tell you, ‘Chapeaux de Paris.’”

p. 120“Sounds all right,” agreed Mrs. Miller.  “I was saying to your young lady here that I’ve been making up my mind to take more trouble about me personal appearance.  Otherwise, it’s likely enough Miller’ll be getting tired of me again, and then there’ll be more trouble.  How would you advise me to have this trimmed, Miss, if it isn’t troubling you too much?”

Beatrice Bell gave advice in a hurried way as though pressed with more urgent affairs, and anxious to see her customer depart.  Mrs. Miller did go, after reciting some more of her personal history; when she had gone Miss Bell took the evening paper from her waistbelt and sat down behind the counter.  She had scarcely done so when the bell of the door rang and a tall young woman came in, dressed in a tailor-made costume, which caused ’Tilderann to gasp with admiration.

“Will you,” she said pleasantly to that amazed girl, “give the driver this half-crown and tell him not to wait?”  She turned brightly to the young proprietress.  “You are Miss Bell, are you not?  My name is Mrs. Myddleton West.”

“One moment,” said Miss Bell trembling, “till the girl comes back, and we’ll go into the shop parlour.”

“You have read the evening paper I see.”

“I’ve got it certainly, ma’am,” replied the agitated young woman, “but as to reading it, why my eyes get so full the moment I begin that I can’t get on with it very fast.”

“I have a letter from my dear husband,” said Mrs. Myddleton West proudly, “from my dear husband giving fuller particulars.”

“And you’ve come straight here?”

’Tilderann returning, flushed with victory because she had compounded with the cabman for two shillings and two pence, and therefore able to refund the sum of fourpence, was commanded to look after the shop, and Miss Bell conducted her visitor into the small room at the back.  ’Tilderann, noting with regret that the door closed carefully, found compensation in serving across the counter imaginary bonnets to imaginary wives of society millionaires at the price of fifty guineas per bonnet.

“Is this Robert Lancaster?” asked Mrs. West in her pleasant way.  She took up a photograph of a brown-faced sailor lad, clean shaven, with a humorous mouth and bare neck.

“That’s my Bobbie,” said Beatrice Bell with pride.  “Won’t you take the easy chair, ma’am?  It’s been quite a lovely summer, hasn’t it?  I suppose we shall soon have autumn upon us if we’re not careful, and—Oh,” she cried, interrupting herself.  “What is the use of me pretending to be calm when I’m all of a tremble!”

“Now you must sit down,” this with a kindly authoritativeness, “sit down here close to me, and I am going to read to you the letter from my husband, which arrived only this evening.”

“From Delar?” asked the girl, seating herself obediently on a hassock.

“From Delar.”

“How could you let your husband go away, ma’am?”

“I don’t think I can,” said Mrs. West, “again.”  She found the letter and took the thin sheets carefully from the envelope.  “But I felt that I ought not to be selfish all through my life.”

“Weren’t you the sister who looked after Bobbie in the hospital, ma’am?”  Mrs. West nodded and smoothed out the sheets of note paper.  p. 121“I wasn’t quite sure whether Mr. West wouldn’t go and marry some one else, considering—I s’pose I’ve no business to say so—but considering the way you kept putting him off.”

“I took care,” said Mrs. Myddleton West quickly, “that he should not do anything so absurd.  Shall I begin the letter?”

“If you please, ma’am,” said Beatrice Bell, looking up respectfully.  Mrs. Myddleton West commenced.

“My dearest, ever dearest,” she stopped.  “I don’t think I need trouble you with the first page at all,” she said with some confusion.

“I know what you mean, ma’am.  Start where he begins to speak of Bobbi............