12
Presently the door opened quietly and Mrs. Orly appeared in the doorway. “Miss Hens’n” she whispered urgently. Miriam turned to meet her flushed face. “Oh Miss Hens’n” she pursued absently, “if Mudie’s send d’you mind lookin’ and choosin’ us something nice?”
“Oh” said Miriam provisionally with a smile.
Mrs. Orly closed the door quietly and advanced confidently with deprecating bright wheedling eyes. “Isn’t it tahsome” she said conversationally. “Ro’s asleep and the carriage is comin’ round at half past. Isn’t it tahsome?”
“Can’t you send it back?”
“I want him to go out; I think the drive will do him good. I say, d’you mind just lookin’—at the books?”
“No, I will; but how shall I know what to keep? Is there a list?”
Mrs. Orly looked embarrassed. “I’ve got a list somewhere” she said hurriedly, “but I can’t find it.”
“I’ll do my best” said Miriam.
“You know—anythin’ historical ... there’s one I put down ‘The Sorrows of a Young Queen.’ Keep that if they send it and anything else you think.”
“Is there anything to go back?”
“Yes, I’ll bring them out. We’ve been reading an awful one—awful.”
Miriam began fingering her gold foil. Mrs. Orly was going to expect her to be shocked....
“By that awful man Zola....”
“Oh yes” said Miriam, dryly.
“Have you read any of his?”
“Yes” said Miriam carefully.
“Have you? Aren’t they shockin’?”
“Well I don’t know. I thought ‘Lourdes’ was simply wonderful.”
“Is that a nice one—what’s it about?”
“Oh you know—it’s about the Madonna of Lourdes, the miracles, in the south of France. It begins with a crowded trainload of sick people going down through France on a very hot day ... it’s simply stupendous ... you feel you’re in the train, you go through it all”—she turned away and looked through the window overcome ... “and there’s a thing called ‘La Rêve’” she went on incoherently with a break in her voice “about an embroideress and a man called Felicien—it’s simply the most lovely thing.”
Mrs. Orly came near to the table.
“You understand about books don’t you,” she said wistfully.
“Oh no” said Miriam. “I’ve hardly read anything.”
“I wish you’d put those two down.”
“I don’t know the names of the translations,” announced Miriam with conceited solicitude.
A long loud yawn resounded through the door.
“Better, boysie?” asked Mrs. Orly turning anxiously towards the open door.
“Yes, my love,” said Mr. Orly cheerfully.
“I am glad, boy—I’ll get my things on—the carriage’ll be here in a minute.”
She departed at a run and Mr. Orly came in and sat heavily down in a chair set against the slope of the wall close by and facing Miriam.
“Phoo” he puffed, “I’ve been taking phenacetin all day; you don’t get heads do you?”
Miriam smiled and began preparing a reply.
“How’s it coming in? Totting up, eh?”
“I think so” said Miriam uneasily.
“What’s it totting up to this month? Any idea?”
“No; I can see if you like.”
“Never mind, never mind.... Mrs. O’s been reading ... phew! You’re a lit’ry young lady—d’you know that French chap—Zola—Emmil Zola——” Mr. Orly glanced suspiciously.
“Yes” said Miriam.
“Like ’im?”
“Yes” said Miriam firmly.
“Well—it’s a matter of taste and fancy” sighed Mr. Orly heavily. “Chacun à son goût—shake an ass and go, as they say. One’s enough for me. I can’t think why they do it myself—sheer well to call a spade a spade sheer bestiality those French writers—don’t ye think so, eh?”
“Well no. I don’t think I can accept that as a summary of French literature.”
“Eh well, it’s beyond me. I suppose I’m not up to it. Behind the times. Not cultured enough. Not cultured enough I guess. Ready dearest?” he said addressing his wife and getting to his feet with a groan. “Miss Hens’n’s a great admirer of Emmil Zola.”
“She says some of his books are pretty, didn’t you, Miss Hens’n. It isn’t fair to judge from one book, Ro.”
“No my love no. Quite right. Quite right. I’m wrong—no doubt. Getting old and soft. Things go on too fast for me.”
“Don’t be so silly, Ro.”