"Stupid?" Shawe stared. He had never heard a woman admit as much before.
"Yes, I am," said Miss Pearl, in her rich, slow voice, and looking more than ever like a sacred white cow. "My parents live in a small Essex village, and have a large family. My father is a carpenter, and my mother, as I told you, a consistent Baptist. Being poor, we--the children, that is--have to work, and when I was eighteen I got a housemaid's place in London. But I could not do the work."
"It is not difficult work," said Shawe, marvelling at this candour.
"No, it is not difficult work," said Miss Pearl, who seemed to have a habit of repeating words, perhaps to fix them in her memory; "but I am stupid, and I was always making mistakes, through forgetting things. I lost place after place because of what was called my lack of intelligence. I had to work in some way, and yet I could not, being too slow and heavy. Then an old gentleman--he was a scholar--said that I resembled a Greek statue. It gave me an idea, as a friend of mine knew a music-hall manager. I went to this manager, and asked him to let me appear in living pictures."
"And he consented?"
"Not at once. He admired me for my looks," said Miss Pearl, with great simplicity, "and he made love to me. They all do, and it is a great nuisance, as I don't like that sort of thing. But this manager became quite friendly when I boxed his ears."
"He must have been an odd manager," said Ralph, thinking that so strong a white arm could hurt considerably.
"Oh, he was like the rest of them," said Miss Pearl, heavily. "However, he declared that he saw possibilities in me, and sent me to someone to be taught. When I mentioned what the scholar had said about my being like a Greek; this man--he was a professor of dancing--got an idea of reviving some Attic dances. He taught me three chants--"
"Songs, you mean."
"No, I do not mean songs. I mean chants, to which I dance. You have seen my performance, have you not, Mr. Shawe?"