England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; English fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, English
By chance, it was ascertained that the time which elapsed after leaving
school had been devoted to a mineral water manufactory: this discovery
reflected no credit upon any of the boarders, being indeed the result of
a chance remark made by her on seeing a two-horse cart belonging to the
firm go through the square. A closer reticence was shown in regard to
her family; Irene did, however, convey, at times, a hint that the members
had seen better and more prosperous days, and that distinguished
ancestors would betray signs of restlessness did they become aware that
she occupied a position that brought in but £12 a year, giving freedom
only on Thursday evening and alternate Sunday afternoons. “But we never
know what’s in store for us,” she remarked, with a touch of fatalism.
“It’s all ordained, I suppose. What I mean to say is, everything’s
planned out, only that we don’t know it. Just as well, perhaps.”
Her appearance in the earlier days gave no signal of noble birth. She
wore the corkscrew curls fashionable in her neighbourhood, and her
efforts in hairdressing ceased at about half-way to the back of her head;
the rest being a casual knot insecurely tied. Many things go awry in
this world, but few were so unlucky as Irene’s apron, which appeared to
be the sport and play of chance, going to various points of the compass,
sometimes becoming fixed due west. She seemed to have a prejudice
against safety pins. With her, hooks and eyes lived indiscriminately,
and never as precise, well-ordered couples. On first assuming the white
cap (against the use of which she made desperate opposition), she wore it
rakishly over one eye, and being reproved, answered lightly that this was
one of those matters which would be forgotten a hundred years hence. A
girl more completely furnished with the easy platitudes that turn away
wrath surely never existed. In generous mood, she gave them away by the
dozen.
“One ’alf of the world doesn’t know how the other ’alf lives; it’s a poor
’eart that never rejoices; there’s none so blind as them that won’t see;
a bird in the ’and’s worth two in the bush; and that’s all about it!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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