Margaret was the only lady who ever patronized the bench-seats in this secluded city oasis. Her V.A.D. uniform, and perhaps her air of unconscious dignity, defended her from any unpleasantness. She had never met with disrespect or lack of courtesy.
One of her chosen companions, an elderly, haggard woman, with a keen sense of humour and traces of lost beauty, who always brought a bundle of old rags and clothes to pick down, had made friends with her almost immediately. She proved a source of great amusement to Margaret. The woman's occupation had caused her much speculation.
She soon discovered, for the woman was not at all reticent, that she had been a low comedian and a dancer at Drury Lane Theatre, and like most comedians, high tragedy was her passion, and had been her ambition.
Margaret's off-hours flew on wings while she listened to the woman's accounts of her dramatic experiences. She had seen her days of prosperity and undoubtedly enjoyed much admiration. She was no grumbler and still retained an appetite for life. The sparrows and the fat pigeons which waited for the crumbs which fell from the pockets of the clothes she unpicked were her friends; her dreams of the past were her recreations.
When Margaret discovered that her desire for theatre-going was still unabated and unsatisfied, and that she considered that there was no pleasure on earth which wealth could bring her to be compared to the excitement of a "first night," as viewed from the gallery, she determined to give her a treat. She had not been to the theatre for many years; the necessary shilling for the gallery was never forthcoming; picking down old uniforms was not a lucrative occupation.
Margaret contrived to put the necessary shilling in her way by leaving it lying on the seat when she got up.
When she appeared in the garden-square the next day, the aged comedian told her about her "find," and asked her anxiously if she had lost a shilling. Margaret lied nobly; yet her lie was only half a lie, for she certainly had not lost it. She had vividly realized the finding of it.
Margaret never laid out a shilling to better account. It was returned to her fourfold as she listened to the glowing descriptions and the good criticisms of the first performance of one of the most popular war-plays which had been played in London.
And so the days passed and ran into each other, impersonal and unselfish days. The story of Margaret's individual life was marking time; but if her romance was arrested, her sympathies were expanding. It was impossible for her to be dull, and she did not allow herself to be sad. Freddy's example forbade self-pity or repining.
Of society in London she knew nothing and cared less. The war had put "society" out of fashion. If she could count amongst her friends many strange and questionable characters, they helped and cheered her as nothing else could have done. More than one poor home in which there was little food and much courage looked forward to the visits of the tall, dark girl, whom they called by no other name than "Our V.A.D."