“Hope my voice is all right to-night. I ate a lot of bloater-paste for tea, and that dries up the voice. Don’t you find that? Only it’s a weakness of mine. Mar used to say I was weaned on bloater-paste.” She looked in the glass anxiously. “Perkins, a wee drop of stout. La—la—la—la!” She took the scale with terrific force in the small space. “Come in.” This in answer to a knock at the door. The fat woman whom they had seen next door came hurtling in. Her toilette was a little more advanced, but not much.
“I say, dearie, have you heard about Gertie Lockhart? She’s got the rheumatic fever, and they say she won’t be able to work for months. We’re getting up a little sub. for her. Give me a few bob, my dear.”
“I should think so,” said Fay emphatically. “Perkins, find my purse. I heard she was pretty bad. Rotten luck! Here’s half a quid with my love. Oh! Miss Belle de Laney—Mrs. Currey. You’ve met my husband, haven’t you?”
“Charmed to meet you, I’m sure. Fay, where did you get them feathers? I’ve been looking out for some like that for weeks. I’ve got such a cold I can hardly speak. Old Moser’s a bit screwed to-night, ain’t he? Thanks muchly, old girl. My! I wish I could keep my fat down like you. Once upon a time—yes, it sounds like a fairy-tale, don’t it?—I had legs like hers. Couldn’t fill my stockings out properly. Now it’s out-sizes, and the holes I wear in ’em!” She nodded confidentially to Claudia. “Do you know, I used to play Columbine once; then I got to principal boy, and now—well, look at me!”
“Don’t you worry,” said Fay kindly. “You’ve got a fine figure, and no one’ll overlook you. And your song’s a treat, a fair treat. Got three curtains last night, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Glad you like it. There’s a rattling good ’ouse to-night. See you later, Fay.”
“Used to be one of the prettiest girls on the halls,” explained Fay, as Miss Belle de Laney vanished; “used to know my mother. She’s a good sort, too. Husband’s a swine, and won’t do no work, and she keeps him and four kids, and makes no growl about it either. Now, Jack, I’m on in a few minutes. Take your sister round to the front. Old Moser’ll put you in a box ... la, la, la, la.... H’m!... How do I look? Knock ’em in the Old Kent Roadish? Emerald green and orange, my own idea. Got it from seeing some oranges lying with the spinach in the kitchen. Bit of shick, ain’t it? See the saucy garters?” She suddenly bestowed a hug upon Claudia. “I like you no end. I watched you just now, and you didn’t turn up your nose at Belle. Of course, she’s as common as dirt, I know that. Still, I believe in good hearts. We’re going to be real sisters, aren’t we? You can teach me the ways of high society, because I don’t want the boy to be ashamed of me. I’ll catch on quick enough if you’ll only give me a few tips, and I can keep my mouth shut if I want to.” She turned with a characteristically quick gesture—she reminded Claudia of an active robin—and caught Jack by the lapels of his coat.
“You’re not angry with me, Jumbo, are you? What does it matter?”
“I’m not exactly angry,” said Jack, looking into her face, “only, don’t you see, things are different now, and a—a man—can’t give jewellery—to a lady who is—is the wife of another man.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Moses in the bulrushes! why not? Most women would like to get the chance of having pendants. It’s a souvenny, Jack, for luck. And it’s so pretty. I’m straight now all right, so it don’t mean nothing. Crikey! that’s his second song. I must go down. Perkins, give me my coat. Here”—she rushed back again to the table and thrust a bunch of carnations into Claudia’s hand—“throw these down to me. It looks well. See you afterwards.”