“Why, you couldn’t have little tots of two or three running about in rooms where the things were hard and sharp! They might hurt themselves.”
Robert fingered the scar on his forehead where he had hit it against the nursery fender when he was little.
“But does everyone have rooms like this, poor people and all?” asked Anthea.
“There’s a room like this wherever there’s a child, of course,” said the lady. “How refreshingly ignorant you are!—no, I don’t mean ignorant, my dear. Of course, you’re awfully well up in ancient History. But I see you haven’t done your Duties of Citizenship Course yet.”
“But beggars, and people like that?” persisted Anthea “and tramps and people who haven’t any homes?”
“People who haven’t any homes?” repeated the lady. “I really don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“It’s all different in our country,” said Cyril carefully; and I have read it used to be different in London. Usedn’t people to have no homes and beg because they were hungry? And wasn’t London very black and dirty once upon a time? And the Thames all muddy and filthy? And narrow streets, and—”
“You must have been reading very old-fashioned books,” said the lady. “Why, all that was in the dark ages! My husband can tell you more about it than I can. He took Ancient History as one of his special subjects.”
“I haven’t seen any working people,” said Anthea.
“Why, we’re all working people,” said the lady; “at least my husband’s a carpenter.”