the porter summoned a cab gruffly and the baskets were placed on top. mary's proffered coppers purchased a certain amount of civility so that the porter asked the address. mary gasped and stared in a blank kind of way. she had absolutely forgotten the address. she recollected now that she had left the card on the hall table at the dower house. how she longed from the bottom of her heart to be back there again in that cool shadow. but the grimy face of the cabman recalled her to her senses.
"i have stupidly left the address behind me," she said. "i remember the street, and i daresay you can inquire when you get there. i am very sorry----"
"miss dashwood, i think," a cool, firm voice, with a subtle suggestion of laughter in it, smote on mary's ears. "so you have forgotten the address. not that it matters in the least, for you are coming with me. you haven't taken your room?"
"no," mary stammered. she was utterly taken off her dignity by the easy manner of the stranger. "i had the address given me, the address of a respectable woman near the british museum who had apartments to let. unfortunately, i left the paper behind me. but you will excuse me if i say that i have not the pleasure----"
"oh, that is all right," the stranger said. "i'm a friend of ralph darnley's. he sent me a very long telegram today to a certain extent explaining the position of affairs, and asking me to meet you and place my services at your disposal. perhaps you have heard ralph speak of me, connie colam."
"only today," mary said; "and then he did not allude to you by name. still, it is very kind of you to take all this trouble, especially for a stranger like myself. how did you recognise me?"
"there were what the americans call 'pointers' in the telegram," miss colam laughed. "but please get in or we shall have the cabman abusive, and that is a consummation decidedly not to be wished. please drive to 16, keppel terrace."
the rickety vehicle got under way at length to mary's great relief. she laid her aching head back against the dirty cushions, wondering if in the whole weary world there was another girl as miserable and heartsick as she was. she raised her hot lids presently to the face of her companion. the critical edge was already dulled, but in no circumstances could mary have disapproved of her companion. a very dainty and refined face was connie colam's, with a pleasant frank expression and a sensitive mouth. at the same time she did not lack in certain suggestions of courage and resolution.
"i hope you approve of me," she said demurely.
"i like your face, if that is what you mean," mary replied. "i shall be able to thank you presently for all your spontaneous kindness. meanwhile, i have the most dreadful headache. after we have found my rooms----"
"oh, your rooms are found already. for the present you are going to stay with me. we are going to join forces. my late chum has gone to paris for a year, and you are going to occupy her bedroom. that is all arranged."
mary murmured something that was intended for gratitude. she had always professed a profound contempt for the helpless type of girl who lets things drift, but she was letting herself drift now with her eyes wide open. and though she was not prepared to admit it, she was almost hysterically glad of the companionship and sympathy of the stranger. as she stood on the platform a little time before, the horrible sense of desolation had gripped her, the awful feeling of loneliness that comes to the friendless in london.
yes, she was passionately glad of this companion. she did not even desire to know whether connie came of a good family or not, her one idea now was to lie down and get rid of a wretched wearing headache. where was her pride of race and station now? where were the force and courage that rose above circumstances and fought physical weakness under? mary was content to leave everything to her companion--the paying of the cabman, the arranging of her boxes, the setting out of her various treasures.
"now you are going to lie down at once," connie said. "i'll bathe your head with eau de cologne, and as soon as i have settled you comfortably, i'll make you a cup of tea. it is one of my great accomplishments. i make my own tea from my own private supply. you lie there and think of nothing."
mary closed her aching eyes; the touch of those deft kindly hands was very soothing. the air was full of the faint scent, and gradually mary dropped into a sleep. it was an hour later before she opened her eyes again; the stinging pain had gone. connie stood by the side of the bed with a cup of tea in her hand.
"you are better," she cried. "i can see that in your eyes. and what beautiful blue eyes they are. a little cold, perhaps, but they won't be so cold when they have looked at the world through our spectacles. now drink your tea, and when you feel up to it you can come and look at the sitting-room."
mary was almost herself again when she entered the sitting-room. it was a fairly large room, with a dining-table in the centre and a large table, littered with brushes and paints and panels, which stood in the window looking on to the street. a score of sketches in black and white faced mary. so far as she could see, it was clever work, but not the kind that appealed to her. the sketches partook of the light and frivolous kind, some of them had more or less feeble jokes attached.
"are these yours?" mary asked. "are they studies of some kind?"
"not at all," connie said cheerfully. "they are translations from the yankees. the originals are very clear, but a little too trans-atlantic for our stolid english taste. so i more or less copy them and my editor adapts the jokes. i do six of them every week for the wheezer, which is a very useful commission for me."
"but that sounds like piracy almost," mary exclaimed.
"perhaps it is," connie said in the same cheerful way. "it is pretty easy work, and i get six shillings a drawing. that is an average of thirty-six shillings a week. i know artists who have exhibited in the academy who are glad to accept such a commission. it is better than working for the razzle dazzle anyway."
mary shuddered. in a way the razzle dazzle was familiar to her. she had once caught one of the stable boys deep in that appalling mass of bad printing and worse literature.
"so you have actually worked for that paper?" she managed to say.
"oh, yes. two shillings a drawing, and pay once a month. do you know that the razzle dazzle is a property worth £10,000 a year? their serials are imported from america, and dressed up by hacks, who get two shillings a column for their work. the wheezer is far better than that. besides, it is practice. some day i hope to drop this kind of thing and get regular commissions for the better-class weekly papers. the illustrating of stories in the sixpenny magazines is the goal of my ambition."
all this was so frank and open that mary could not resent the tone of the speaker. and yet she paled at the degradation of the class of labour.
"it must be very trying work for a lady," she said. "i mean for a lady born."
"perhaps it is," connie said thoughtfully. "but it is not so trying as your landlady in the room demanding her back rent, coupled with a threat that if it is not paid tomorrow she will put your boxes into the street. and that has happened to me more than once, though my father was a general officer and my mother the daughter of an archdeacon. i was quite alone in the world then; i will never forget it. try to fancy what it means for a young friendless girl to be turned into the streets of london! i dream of it at night sometimes. . . . that afternoon i walked into the office of the razzle and told one of the assistant editors how i stood. it was like dragging the words from me. and he gave me some work to do, and i sat up all night over it. soon after that i was carrying just one solitary sovereign. but what a lot that little coin meant to me! and that is why i have a tender spot in my heart for that unspeakable old razzle. but i don't know why i am worrying you with all these sordid details."
"go on," mary said in a hushed, awed voice. "you are opening up a new world to me. you are making me feel ashamed of what i had hitherto regarded as an exemplary life."
"we'll go into that presently," connie said. "i've got to go and see a friend of mine who is ill. we take her work and try to sell it. if it sells, well and good. if not, we say that it has gone, and make up the money amongst us. it sounds wrong, but it is meant in the proper spirit. i shan't be long. ring the bell and ask the landlady to clear away."
connie vanished from the room, apparently taking all the sunshine with her, and mary proceeded to ring the bell. she wondered vaguely how many years it was since she had entered that house. she did not hear the landlady address her at first.
"oh, i beg your pardon," she said. "yes, i am going to stay here for the present with miss colam. you are mrs. speed. . . . where have i seen you before? your face is so very familiar to me. it brings back recollections of my early childhood. you make me feel as if all this has happened before."
"i know the feeling, miss," the landlady said. "but i don't suppose you have ever seen me. my very early days were spent on the estate of sir ralph dashwood, of dashwood hall. maybe you have heard of it, miss?"
