And she ran upstairs. She was curious to see what Madame and her four young men were like.
With Mrs. Rollings she called at the chemist’s back door, and then they hurried through the sleet to the widow’s dwelling. It was not far. As they went up the entry they heard the sound of voices. But in the kitchen all was quiet. The voices came from the front room.
Mrs. Rollings tapped.
“Come in!” said a rather sharp voice. Alvina entered on the widow’s heels.
“I’ve brought you the cough stuff,” said the widow. “And Miss Huff’n’s come as well, to see how you was.”
Four young men were sitting round the table in their shirt-sleeves, with bottles of Bass. There was much cigarette smoke. By the fire, which was burning brightly, sat a plump, pale woman with dark bright eyes and finely-drawn eyebrows: she might be any age between forty and fifty. There were grey threads in her tidy black hair. She was neatly dressed in a well-made black dress with a small lace collar. There was a slight look of self-commiseration on her face. She had a cigarette between her drooped fingers.
She rose as if with difficulty, and held out her plump hand, on which four or five rings showed. She had dropped the cigarette unnoticed into the hearth.
“How do you do,” she said. “I didn’t catch your name.” Madame’s voice was a little plaintive and plangent now, like a bronze reed mournfully vibrating.
“Alvina Houghton,” said Alvina.
“Daughter of him as owns the thee-etter where you’re goin’ to act,” interposed the widow.