They had hardly begun to eat when the telephone-bell rang, and momma, answering it, was gone for some time. They caught scraps of bantering talk and Louise wondered, "Who's that she's jollying now?" She sprang up with a cry of delight when momma came back to announce that the crowd was going to the beach.
There was a scramble to dress. Helen, hooking their gowns in the cluttered bedroom, saw dresser drawers overflowing with sheer underwear, silk stockings, bits of ribbon, crushed hat-trimmings, and plumes. Louise brushed her eyebrows with a tiny brush, rubbed her nails with a buffer, dabbed carefully at her lips with a lip-stick Helen hoped that she did not show her surprise at these novel details of the toilet. They had taken it for granted she was going to the beach with them. Their surprise and regret were genuine when she said she must go to work.
"Oh, what do you want to do that for?" Louise pouted. "You look all right." She said it doubtfully, then brightened. "I'll lend you some of my things. You'd be perfectly stunning dressed up. Wouldn't she be stunning, Momma? You've got lovely hair and that baby stare of yours. All you need's a dress and a little—Isn't it, Momma?"
Her mother agreed warmly. Helen glowed under their praise and was deeply grateful for their interest in her. She wanted very much to go with them, and when she stood on the sidewalk watching them depart in a big red automobile, amidst a chorus of gay voices, she felt chilled and lonely.
They were lovely to be so friendly to her, she thought, while she went soberly to work. She felt that she must in some way return their kindness, and after discarding a number of plans she decided to take them both to a matinée.
It was Louise, at their third meeting, who suggested that she come to live with them. "What do you know, Momma, Helen's living in some awful hole all alone. Why couldn't she come in with us? There's loads of room. She could sleep with me. Momma, why not?"
Her mother, smiling lazily, said:
"Well, if you kids want to, I don't care." Helen was delighted by the prospect. It was arranged that she should pay one third of the expenses, and Louise cried joyfully: "Now, Momma, you've got to get my lavallière!"
The next afternoon Helen packed her bag and left the room on Gough Street. Her feet wanted to dance when she went down the narrow stairs for the last time and let herself out into the windy sunshine.