“Bertie can’t abide Mrs. Cooper, somehow,” she said, in her voluble, good-tempered way. “You don’t know Mrs. Cooper, do you? She lives in Shepherd’s Bush. Such a nice woman, and a thorough lady!”
“Oh, yes,” said Winnie, politely.
“But Bertie can’t abide ’er. I don’t deny that she does take a little drop more than’s good for ’er; but she’s ’ad a rare lot of trouble.”
Bertram said nothing, and in an awkward pause they waited for the tea.
“I think I’d better go an’ see if anything ’as ’appened,” said Mrs. Railing. “We don’t generally ’ave tea in here, except when we ’ave company. And that girl of mine can’t be trusted to do anything unless I’m watchin’ of her all the time.”
But Railing rang the bell again impatiently. After a further sound of voices raised in acrimonious dispute, the door was opened about six inches, and the dishevelled head of a frowsy girl was thrust in.
“D’you want anything?”
“Do I want anything!” cried Mrs. Railing, indignantly, “I suppose you think I ring the bell for me ’ealth! I suppose I’ve got nothing better to do than to ring the bell all day long. Didn’t I tell you to bring the tea the moment that Bertie come in?”
“Well, I’m bringing it,” came from the head, crossly, and the door was closed with a bang.
“Oh, them girls!” said Mrs. Railing. “They’re more trouble than they’re worth, and that’s the truth. The number of girls I’ve ’ad—well, I couldn’t count ’em. They eat you out of ’ouse and ’ome, and they’re always grumbling, and you ’ave to pay ’em five shillings now—they won’t come for less—and they’re not worth it. I ’ave to do all the work meself. And they’re that particular in their eating, I never see anything like it. They must ’ave the best of everything, just the same as we ’ave, if you please.”