Joan asked for tea, and having secured her cup and a small piece of unappetizing bacon, she found her way over to the indicated table. A girl sat at the head of it, and since she was ensconced behind a newspaper and apparently paying no attention to anybody, Joan chose the chair next her. She felt on the sudden shy and unwilling to make friends with anyone, the chill of the room was striking into her heart.
She had presently to rouse her neighbour, however, to ask her to pass the salt, and at that the girl lifted a pair of penetrating eyes and fixed Joan with an intent stare.
"New arrival?" she asked.
"Yes," Joan admitted. "I came last night."
"Humph!" the girl commented. "Well, don't touch the jam this morning. It is peculiar to Shamrock House—plum-stones, raspberry-pips and glue." She swept the information at Joan and returned to her paper.
She was a big girl with rather a heavy face and strong, capable-looking hands. Despite her manners, which were undeniably bad, Joan would almost have described her as distinguished but for the fact that the word sounded ridiculous amid such surroundings.
"Looking for work?" the girl asked presently.
"Yes," Joan answered again, "only I am not sure what sort of work to look for, or what I should like to do."
The girl lifted her eyes to stare at her once again. "It isn't generally a case of 'like,'" she said, "more often it is necessity. In that case"—she reached out a long arm for the bread—"Fate does not as a rule give you much time in which to make up your mind; she pushes you into something which you hate like hell for the rest of your life."
"You aren't very cheerful," remonstrated Joan.