I followed the neat maid-servant (herself an East Ender born and bred) along this out into a little paved yard, which we crossed, and up a flight of break-neck stairs into the club-room.
It was a long, narrow apartment, with a low platform at one end, and the wooden walls were hung with gay-coloured bunting interspersed with various flags, a few pictures from Christmas numbers, and some framed texts.
Odd strips of carpet, matting and rugs, covered the floor and on these stood small tables laden with magazines, books and games, while little chairs stood here and there not in stiff rows but in conversational attitudes, so to speak.
A fixed bench ran all round the walls, a piano (rather the worse for wear inside and out) stood in one corner of the platform, and a few plants in pots disguised by crinkled paper completed the furniture.
Judging from the noise that greeted me when I entered, the lungs of Belinda Ann and her friends were in fairly good condition, and I felt distinctly alarmed as I advanced, for they all turned and stared at me with one consent, making frank and audible remarks on my personal appearance and dress.
The room was crowded with girls, tall and short, dark and fair, fat and thin, very few of whom were playing games or reading, but all of whom were chattering as fast as their tongues would let them.
I was relieved when the lady who had invited me stepped forward to shake hands and at once piloted me up the room (for she knew I wanted to learn all I could about my East End sisters) whispering as she went, "I'm going to introduce Belinda Ann to you. You'll find out all you want to know from her," and next minute I found myself deposited next a girl who surveyed me with a mixture of good-humoured contempt and watchful suspicion.
The first was due to my small size, the second to a lurking conviction that I wanted to patronise, or as she afterwards expressed it, "Come the toff over her."
As soon as she found out I was far from wishing to do this, she became more friendly, and assured my hostess that she'd take care of the "lydy."
Belinda Ann was a head and shoulders taller than myself and broad in proportion, although she was only eighteen. She possessed a quantity of black hair which came down to her eyebrows in front in a thick, straight fringe and was beautifully bright and clean. Brown eyes looked fearlessly at you from under the fringe, and her whole manner was that of a girl who, ever since she could walk, had had to fight for herself and protect herself, and had done it too.