"I am Mary Daunt. I live above you. Have you had some tea?"In the gentle question of this girl with the faintly smiling lips and shining eyes Thyme fancied that she detected mockery.
"Yes, thanks. I want to be shown what my work's to be, at once, please."The grey girl looked at Martin.
"Oh! Won't to-morrow do for all that sort of thing? I'm sure you must be tired. Mr. Stone, do make her rest!"Martin's glance seemed to say: 'Please leave your femininities!'
"If you mean business, your work will be the same as hers," he said;"you're not qualified. All you can do will be visiting, noting the state of the houses and the condition of the children."The girl in grey said gently: "You see, we only deal with sanitation and the children. It seems hard on the grown people and the old to leave them out; but there's sure to be so much less money than we want, so that it must all go towards the future."There was a silence. The girl with the shining eyes added softly:
"1950!"
"1950!" repeated Martin. It seemed to be some formula of faith.
"I must send this telegram!" muttered Thyme.
Martin took it from her and went out.
Left alone in the little room, the two girls did not at first speak.
The girl in grey was watching Thyme half timidly, as if she could not tell what to make of this young creature who looked so charming, and kept shooting such distrustful glances.
"I think it's so awfully sweet of you to come," she said at last.
"I know what a good time you have at home; your cousin's often told me. Don't you think he's splendid?"To that question Thyme made no answer.
"Isn't this work horrid," she said--"prying into people's houses?"The grey girl smiled. "It is rather awful sometimes. I've been at it six months now. You get used to it. I've had all the worst things said to me by now, I should think."Thyme shuddered.
"You see," said the grey girl's faintly smiling lips, "you soon get the feeling of having to go through with it. We all realise it's got to be done, of course. Your cousin's one of the best of us; nothing seems to put him out. He has such a nice sort of scornful kindness.
I'd rather work with him than anyone."
She looked past her new associate into that world outside, where the sky seemed all wires and yellow heat-dust. She did not notice Thyme appraising her from head to foot, with a stare hostile and jealous, but pathetic, too, as though confessing that this girl was her superior.
"I'm sure I can't do that work!" she said suddenly.
The grey girl smiled. "Oh, I thought that at first." Then, with an admiring look: "But I do think it's rather a shame for you, you're so pretty. Perhaps they'd put you on to tabulation work, though that's awfully dull. We'll ask your cousin.""No; I'll do the whole or nothing."
"Well," said the grey girl, "I've got one house left to-day. Would you like to come and see the sort of thing?"She took a small notebook from a side pocket in her skirt.
"I can't get on without a pocket. You must have something that you can't leave behind. I left four little bags and two dozen handkerchiefs in five weeks before I came back to pockets. It's rather a horrid house, I'm afraid!""I shall be all right," said Thyme shortly.
In the shop doorway the young tobacconist was taking the evening air.
He greeted them with his polite but constitutionally leering smile.
