She spoke with vivacity. Love scenes are a pretty woman’s battlefields and soldiers enjoy fighting. Harriet’s courage was victorious, and Hogg promised to be good.
That evening, when he returned from work, he saw sitting by Harriet’s side on the sofa a big woman, with raven-black hair, a face of a dead white, and a horse-like profile. “Hogg, this is Eliza, she is come, isn’t it kind of her? Eliza, this is Hogg, our greatest friend, of whom Percy has so often spoken to you.”
Eliza shadowed him a bow from the nape of her neck.
“I thought Bysshe was to have brought you with him?”
“Oh dear no!” said Eliza, and she went on talking to Harriet and paid him no further attention.
Hogg was not used to such treatment in the Shelleys’ house.
“So this is Eliza?” he thought. “She is hideous and common-looking. Here’s an end to my flirtation with Harriet—though perhaps that’s just as well. . . .”
“Harriet, dearest,” he said aloud, “aren’t we going to have any tea to-day? You don’t take tea, Miss Westbrook?” he inquired, turning to her politely.
“Oh dear no!” replied that lady.
“And you, Harriet?”