“Well, I’ll try.”
Parting, at the end of the afternoon, was a choky affair on both sides.
“Not so long now till the holidays, pet. Be a good girl and get a prize, to please Uncle Alfred.”
“I really will try, Mother darling. Is he making much fuss about the school-bills?”
“Not a lot. He wants you to be well educated. See here, Rose, he gave me some money the other day. I can give you this.”
“Oh, Mother! It’s too much.”
“Not a bit of it, lovey. Get some chocs, or something good. By-bye.”
Rose would stand on the doorstep and wave, receiving vigorous waves in return, till her mother, still walking backwards, either collided with a passer-by or disappeared round the corner of the street.
The holidays, when they came, had always been blissful, owing to the companionship of that adored mother. They had both of them enjoyed their cramped quarters in one small bedroom over the shop, both disregarded Uncle Alfred’s severe commands as to the consumption of gas with cheerful impunity, turning up the flame as high as it would go, so that both could judge of the effect upon Rose’s mother’s complexion of the new creams and powders with which she was always trying experiments, sometimes with disastrous results.
“I don’t like that brunette powder, one bit. It makes you look sort of green.”