“That anybody could be so comfortable in Lambeth,” she said, interpreting his thoughts. “No, people think they must pay for what they call ‘a good situation.’ Poor pinched widows and shabby spinsters spend more than half their income on rent and taxes, and starve on the other half, in order to live in a genteel locality—some dingy little street in Pimlico perhaps, or a stucco terrace in Kensington. Here am I with two fine large rooms in a forgotten old street, which was built before the age of shoddy. I live among poor people, and am not obliged to sacrifice a sixpence for the sake of appearances. I buy everything in the cheapest market, and my neighbours look up to me, instead of looking down upon me, as they might if I lived among gentilities. You will say, perhaps, that I live in the midst of dirt and squalor. If I do I take care that none of it ever comes near me, and I do all that one woman’s voice and one woman’s pen can do to lessen the evils that I see about me.”
“It would be a good thing for poor neighbourhoods if there were many ladies of your mind, Miss Newton,” said Theodore, basking in the glow of the fire, and looking lazily round the room, with its two well-filled book-cases, occupying the recesses on each side of the fireplace, its brackets and shelves, and hanging pockets, its large old-fashioned sofa, and substantial claw-footed table, its wicker chairs, cushioned with bright colour—its lamps and candlesticks on shelf and bracket, ready to the hand when extra light should be wanted, its contrivances and handinesses of all kinds, which denoted the womanly inventiveness of the tenant.
“Well, I believe it would. If only a small percentage of the lonely spinsters of England would make their abode among the poor, things would have to be mended somehow. There could not be such crying evils as there are if there were more eyes to see them, and more voices to protest against them. You like this old room of mine, I see, Mr. Dalbrook,” added Sarah Newton, following his eyes as they surveyed the dark red wall against which the brackets and shelves, and books and photographs, and bits of old china stood out in bright relief.
“I am full of admiration and surprise!”
“It is all my own work. I had lived in other people’s houses so long that I was charmed to have a home of my own, even in Lambeth. I was determined to spend very little money, and yet to make myself comfortable; so I just squatted in the next room for the first three months, with only a bedstead, a table, and a chair or two, while I prowled all over London to find the exact furniture I wanted. There’s not an article in the room that did not take me weeks to find and to buy, and there’s not an article that wasn’t a tremendous bargain. But what an egotistical old prattler I am! Women who live much alone get to be dreadful prosers. I won’t say another word about myself—at any rate, not till after I’ve made you a cup of tea after your cold walk.”
She had seen the mud upon his boots, and guessed that he had walked from the Temple.
“Pray do not take any trouble——”
“Nonsense; it is never trouble to a woman to make tea. I give a tea-party twice a week. I hope you like tea?”
“I adore it. But pray go on with your account of how you settled down here. I am warmly interested.”
“That’s very good of you—but there’s not much to tell about myself,” said Miss Newton, producing some pretty old china out of an antique cupboard with glass doors, and setting out a little brass tea-tray while she talked.