Part 13 (1/2)
The person vanished, seemingly through the floor.
Mavis was taken aback by the woman's rudeness; even to this creature, shop-girls were, apparently, of small account. By and by, Mavis heard her clumping up from below. When she appeared, Mavis put authority into her voice as she said:
”Can I see anyone here?”
”If you've any eyes in your 'ead,” snorted the servant, as she disappeared from view.
Still no one came. Mavis was making up her mind to explore the downstair regions when the footfalls of the rude person were heard coming down.
”I've been waiting quite ten minutes,” Mavis began angrily, as the person came in view.
”'Ave yer?”
”Look here, I'm not used to be answered like that,” Mavis began; but she was wasting her breath; the servant went on her way in complete disregard of Mavis's wrath.
Mavis thought of trying another entrance, when a young woman came downstairs. She had a pasty face, with a turned-up nose and large, romantic eyes. She carried a book under her arm. When she saw Mavis, she stopped to look curiously at her.
”I've come here to start work tomorrow. Can you tell me where I'm to go?” asked Mavis.
”I'm in a great hurry. I've a Browning--”
”If you'll only tell me where to go,” interrupted Mavis.
”It's this way,” cried the girl, as she led the way up the stairs.
”I've a Browning to return to--”
”If you'll only tell me where I'm to go--”
”You'd never find it. I'd have shown you round, but I've to return a Browning to a gentleman.”
”It's very kind of you,” remarked Mavis, who was wondering how much further she had to climb.
”Do you love Browning?” asked the girl with the big eyes.
”I can't say I do.”
”You--don't--love--Browning?” asked the other in astonishment.
”I'm sorry, but I don't.”
”I couldn't live without Browning. Here's your room: you'll probably find someone inside. My name's Miss Meakin.”
”Mine is Mavis Keeves. Thanks so much.”
Mavis opened the door of a not over-large room, which was lit by a single gas burner. Mavis looked at the four small beds, the four chests of drawers, the four was.h.i.+ng stands, the four cane chairs, and the four framed bits of looking gla.s.s, which made up the furniture of the room.
Upon three of the beds were tumbled articles of feminine attire; others had slipped on the not over-clean floor. Then Mavis noticed the back of a girl who was craning her neck out of the one window at the further end of the room. The atmosphere of the apartment next compelled attention; it was a combination of gas (the burner leaked), stale body linen, cheap scents and soapsuds; it stuck in her throat and made her cough.
”Is that Pongo?” asked the girl, who was still staring out of the window.
”It's me,” said Mavis.