Pointed Roofs · Chapter 1 (2/2)

“I wish I could. I can’t think how she does it.”

“Ike spect it’s easy enough.”

“Mm.”

“But you’re all right, anyhow.”

“Anyhow, it’s no good bothering when you’re plain.”

“You’re not plain.”

Miriam looked sharply round.

“Go on, Gooby.”

“You’re not. You don’t know. Granny said you’ll be a bonny woman, and Sarah thinks you’ve got the best shape face and the best complexion of any of us, and cook was simply crying her eyes out last night and said you were the light of the house with your happy, pretty face, and mother said you’re much too attractive to go about alone, and that’s partly why Pater’s going with you to Hanover, silly.⁠ ⁠… You’re not plain,” she gasped.

Miriam’s amazement silenced her. She stood back from the mirror. She could not look into it until Harriett had gone. The phrases she had just heard rang in her head without meaning. But she knew she would remember all of them. She went on doing her hair with downcast eyes. She had seen Harriett vividly, and had longed to crush her in her arms and kiss her little round cheeks and the snub of her nose. Then she wanted her to be gone.

Presently Harriett took up a brooch and skated down the room, “Ta‑ra‑ra‑la‑eee‑tee!” she carolled, “don’t be long,” and disappeared.

“I’m pretty,” murmured Miriam, planting herself in front of the dressing table. “I’m pretty⁠—they like me⁠—they like me. Why didn’t I know?” She did not look into the mirror. “They all like me, me.”

The sound of the breakfast bell came clanging up through the house. She hurried to her side of the curtained recess. Hanging there were her old red stockinette jersey and her blue skirt⁠ ⁠… never again⁠ ⁠… just once more⁠ ⁠… she could change afterwards. Her brown, heavy best dress with puffed and gauged sleeves and thick gauged and gathered boned bodice was in her hand. She hung it once more on its peg and quickly put on her old things. The jersey was shiny with wear. “You darling old things,” she muttered as her arms slipped down the sleeves.

The door of the next room opened quietly and she heard Sarah and Eve go decorously downstairs. She waited until their footsteps had died away and then went very slowly down the first flight, fastening her belt. She stopped at the landing window, tucking the frayed end of the petersham under the frame of the buckle⁠ ⁠… they were all downstairs, liking her. She could not face them. She was too excited and too shy.⁠ ⁠… She had never once thought of their “feeling” her going away⁠ ⁠… saying goodbye to each one⁠ ⁠… all minding and sorry⁠—even the servants. She glanced fearfully out into the garden, seeing nothing. Someone called up from the breakfast room doorway, “Mim‑my!” How surprised Mr. Bart had been when he discovered that they themselves never knew whose voice it was of all four of them unless you saw the person, “but yours is really richer”⁠ ⁠… it was cheek to say that.

“Mim‑my!”

Suddenly she longed to be gone⁠—to have it all over and be gone.

She heard the kak-kak of Harriett’s wooden heeled slippers across the tiled hall. She glanced down the well of the staircase. Harriett was mightily swinging the bell, scattering a little spray of notes at each end of her swing.

With a frightened face Miriam crept back up the stairs. Violently slamming the bedroom door, “I’m a-comin’⁠—I’m a-comin’,” she shouted and ran downstairs.