The others stared back.
“Me deer,” said Aunt Harriet, labouring up the stairs, “I want you to feel that this is a nome from ’ome. Merriage is a wrench. One leaves a lovin’ ’ome for a strange country. An’ you do feel strange. I remember me own merriage. Down we goes to a little one-eyed place with never a soul as knew wot a lady was. I tell you I felt that lonely I could ’ave cut me throat. But you’ve no call to do that. You’re among frien’s ’ere that feels as you do an’ likes the ways you like. I give you me word, Lady Ann, vulgarity makes me sick. An’ there’s so much of it to-day.”
Arrived at a door upon the first floor, she opened it and passed into a large, dingily furnished bedroom facing the sea. The brown wallpaper was bruised and soiled: the threadbare carpet was overlaid with cheap rugs: a voluminous muslin valance swaddled the dressing-table: wardrobe, washstand and bed recalled the several sale-rooms whence they had come: a rusty horse-hair couch sulked in a corner: spotted engravings of Royalty being baptized or married or churched hung upon the walls: a cord of one of the Venetian blinds had broken, and the slats were splayed: a window of the bay was open and admitting something of what seemed to be the uproar of a gigantic fair.
“There,” said the proud hostess, mechanically laying folded hands upon the abdominal wall. “Simple, but tasty. I remember so well the firs’ time the Countess of ’Ampshire was ’ere. ‘Mrs. Root,’ she says, ‘people ’as an idea that we titleds must ’ave display. Completely wrong. Now, my bedroom at ’Assocks is jus’ like this—quiet, but distanggy.’ ”
“It’s delightful,” said Ann, looking round. “I—I don’t feel strange at all.”
“Couldn’ if you tried,” was the triumphant reply. “It’s so—so res’ful.” She sank on to a chair. “An’ now, me deer, make yourself at ’ome. This is your private room in ’Oliday ’Ouse.”
“You’re very kind,” said Ann.
“Don’ mention it.”
The abrupt injunction was disconcerting. It was not meant, of course, to be obeyed. On the contrary. . . . After searching desperately for words with which to flout its blunt authority—
“I—I wonder where Bob is,” faltered Ann. “If I could have my dressing-case . . .”