In a stiff-backed arm-chair by the fireplace sat an elderly lady, of a somewhat austere appearance, who was examining through her spectacles the cover of a paper backed novel, depicting a voluptuous young woman; obviously displeasing to her sense of propriety. Mrs. Heywood’s sense of propriety was somewhat acutely developed, to the annoyance, at times, of Mollie, the maid-servant, who was clearing away the tea-things in a bad temper. That is to say, she was making a great deal of unnecessary clatter.
Mrs. Heywood ignored the clatter, and concentrated her attention on the cover of the paper-backed book. It seemed to distress her, and presently she gave expression to her distress.
“Dear me! What an improper young woman!”
Mollie’s bad temper was revealed by a sudden tightening of the lips and a flushed face. She bent across an “occasional” table and peered over the old lady’s shoulder, and spoke rather impudently.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but that’s my novel, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind,” said Mrs. Heywood. “I was shocked to find it on the kitchen dresser.”
Molly tossed her head, so that her white cap assumed an acute angle.
“I was shocked to see that it had gone from the kitchen dresser.”
Then she lowered her voice and added in a tone of bitter grievance—
“Blessed if one can call anything one’s own in this here flat.”