"Did you see it?" asked Martha.
Mrs. MacAvelly had seen it. It was cold and also stuffy. It was ugly and shabby and stiff. Three tired girls sat there, two trying to read by a strangled gaslight overhead; one trying to entertain a caller in a social fiction of privacy at the other end of the room.
"Yes, we have visitors—but mostly they ask us out. And some of us don't go," said Martha darkly.
"I see, I see!" said Mrs. MacAvelly, with a pleasant smile; and Martha wondered whether she did see, or was just being civil.
"For instance, there's Mr. Basset," the girl pursued, somewhat recklessly; meaning that her visitor should understand her.
"Mr. Basset?"
"Yes, 'Pond & Basset'—one of my employers."
Mrs. MacAvelly looked pained. "Couldn't you—er—avoid it?" she suggested.
"You mean shake him?" asked Martha. "Why, yes—I could. Might lose my job. Get another place—another Basset, probably."
"I see!" said Mrs. MacAvelly again. "Like the Fox and the Swarm of
Flies! There ought to be a more comfortable way of living for all you
girls! And how about the union—I have to be going back to Miss
Podder."