It was like a sudden noise in a forest at night, so poignant was the contrast of the radiating silences that succeeded. Jenny’s voice stopped sharply. Perhaps it had occurred to her that her song would be overheard. Perhaps she had herself become affected by the meaning of the words she was so carelessly singing. There was once more an air of oblivion over all things. The old man sank back in his chair, puffing slowly, blue smoke from the bowl of the pipe, grey smoke from between his lips. Emmy looked again at the clock. She had the listening air of one who awaits a bewildering event. Once she shivered, and bent to the fire, raking among the red tumbling small coal with the bent kitchen poker. Jenny began to whistle again, and Emmy impatiently wriggled her shoulders, jarred by the noise. Suddenly she could bear no longer the whistle that pierced her thoughts and distracted her attention, but went out to the scullery.
“How are you getting on?” she asked with an effort.
“Fine. This gas leaks. Can’t you whiff it? Don’t know which one it is. Pa all right?”
“Yes, he’s all right. Nearly finished?”
“Getting on. Tram nearly ran over a kid to-night. She was wheeling a pram full of washing on the line. There wasn’t half a row about it—shouting and swearing. Anybody would have thought the kid had laid down on the line. I expect she was frightened out of her wits—all those men shouting at her. There, now I’ll lay it on the plate rack over the gas for a bit.... Look smart, shan’t I! With a red rose in it and a red ribbon....”
“Not going to have those streamers, or any lace, are you?”
“Not likely. You see the kids round here wearing them; but the kids round here are always a season late. Same with their costumes. They don’t know any better. I do!”
Jenny was cheerfully contemptuous. She knew what was being worn along Regent Street and in Bond Street, because she saw it with her own eyes. Then she came home and saw the girls of her own district swanking about like last year’s patterns, as she said. She couldn’t help laughing at them. It made her think of the tales of savages wearing top hats with strings of beads and thinking they were all in the latest European fashion. That is the constant amusement of the expert as she regards the amateur. She has all the satisfaction of knowing better, without the turmoil of competition, a fact which distinguishes the superior spirit from the struggling helot. Jenny took full advantage of her situation and her knowledge.
“Yes, you know a lot,” Emmy said dryly.
“Ah, you’ve noticed it?” Jenny was not to be gibed at without retort. “I’m glad.”