She paused, and then she added:
“And there's no one here who hasn't found life pretty hard. That gives us a kind of freemasonry, you know. The Tressiters, for instance, they have three children, and he has been out of work for months—sometimes there's such a frightened look in her eyes ... but you mustn't think that we're melancholy here,” she went on more happily. “We get a lot of happiness out of it all.”
He looked at her, and remembering Mrs. Monogue at dinner and seeing now how delicate the girl looked, thought that she must have a very considerable amount of pluck on her own account.
“And you?” she said. “Have you only just come up to London?”
“Yes,” he answered, “I'm in a bookseller's shop—a second-hand bookseller's. I've only been in London a few days—it's all very exciting for me—and a little confusing at present.”
“I'm sure you'll get on,” she said. “You look so strong and confident and happy. I envy you your strength—one can do so much if one's got that.”
He felt almost ashamed of his rough suit, his ragged build. “Well, I've always been in the country,” he said, a little apologetically. “I expect London will change that.”
Then there came across the room Mrs. Monogue's sharp voice. “Norah! Norah! I want you.”
She left him.
That night in his little room, he looked from his window at the sea of black roofs that stretched into the sky and found in their ultimate distance the wonderful sweep of stars that domed them; a great moon, full-rounded, dull gold, staring like a huge eye, above them. His heart was full. A God there must be somewhere to have given him all this splendour—a splendour surely for him to work upon. He felt as a craftsman feels, when some new and wonderful tools have been given to him; as a woman feels the child in her womb, stirring mysteriously, moving her to deep and glad thankfulness, so now, with the night wind blowing about him, and all London lying, dark and motionless, below him, he felt the first stirring of his power. This was his to work with, this was his to praise and glorify and make beautiful—now crude and formless—a seed dark and without form or colour—one day to make one more flower in that garden that God has given his servants to work in.