Poor lost dog! Clifton, at the theater, had threatened to send her away. She knew what that meant: leaving Miss Lily, losing those good meals....
Maud faltered something about packing up; pain in her eye; not her fault.
“So what you want is to stay with us?” asked Pa.
“Oh!” gasped Maud.
“Well, then, stay! But no more bike; you shall be Lily’s lady’s maid,” said Pa, puffing at his pipe.
It went down so well, as an effort of dry humor, that Ma could not help laughing. But Mr. Clifton was talking seriously. Then Ma, amazed, protested: what, a servant in her house! A lady’s maid for Lily! He would end by giving her the moon! And what would Lily do all day? She’d sit twiddling her thumbs! Had Mr. Clifton thought of that?
Yes, Mr. Clifton had thought of it. He was too tired to explain his reasons; but take it from him, it was best like that. Pa, in fact, feared lest that smashed eye might prove a worry to him: the papers weren’t in order. He had made no declaration to the police; there was the Workmen’s Compensation Act.... Much better keep Maud safe in the house, for a while ...
“Lily won’t sit twiddling her thumbs for all that, will you, Lily?” continued Pa, smiling to his star.
A touch of the brush and comb, a stroll through the streets with the girls, by leave of Pa, who wished Lily to take the air, then home again, more housework.... The apprentices, who did not yet perform in public, were sent to bed early, while Lily, escorted by Pa, went off to East, West, South or North London. An hour to get there; then undress, dress, appear on the stage under Pa’s eye, undress and dress again; another hour to get back; a morsel of cold Irish stew, a cup of tea; and drowsily up to her room and bed....