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Page 38
"Ah," said Max, "_now_ I understand! And didn't she ever let you know
who placed you with her?"
"She said it was my grandmother," answered Carrie, doubtfully.
"This grandmother? The one you call Granny?"
"I don't know. You see, Mrs. Higgs never turned up till about ten months
ago, long after Miss Aldridge had died. She died the Christmas before
last."
"And how did you get to the hotel?"
"I had to do something. Miss Aldridge had only her annuity. I had done
everything for her, except the very hardest work, that she wouldn't let
me do; and when she died, suddenly, I had to find some way of living.
And somebody knew of the hotel. So I went."
"Where was it?"
"Oh, not so very far from here. It was a dreadful place. They treated me
fairly well because I am quick at accounts, so I was useful. But, oh, it
wasn't a place for a girl at all."
"But why didn't you get a better one? Anything would have been better,
surely, than coming here, to live like this!"
Max was earnest, impassioned even. The girl smiled mournfully as she
just caught his eyes for a moment, and then looked at the fire again.
"You don't understand," she said, simply. "How should you? I should have
had no reference to give if I had wanted another situation. The name of
the place where I had been living would have been worse than none."
"But there are lots of places where you could have gone, religious and
philanthropic institutions I think they call themselves, where they
would have listened to what you had to say, and done their best to help
you."
Carrie looked dubious.
"Are there?" said she. "Well, there may be, of course. But I think not.
Plenty of institutions of one sort and another there are, of course. But
those for women are generally for one class--a class I don't belong to."
Max shuddered. This matter-of-fact tone jarred upon him. It was not
immodest, but it revealed a mind accustomed to view the facts of life,
not one nourished on pretty fancies, like those of his sisters.
"And even if," she went on, "there were a home, an institution, a girl
like me could go to and obtain employment, it wouldn't be a life one
would care for; it would be a sort of workhouse at the best, wouldn't
it?"
"Wouldn't it be better than--this?"
"I don't even know that. Granny's fond of me in her way. That's the one
thing no sort of institution can give you, the feeling that you belong
to some one, that you're not just a number."
"Well, but you're well educated--and--"
He was going to say "pretty," but her look stopped him.
It was almost a look of reproach.
"Do you think I'm the only fairly-educated girl in London who doesn't
know how to get a living? Haven't you ever found, in poor, wretched
little shops, girls who speak well, look different from the others?
Don't you know that there are lots of girls like me who are provided
for, well provided for at the outset, and then forgotten, or neglected,
and left to starve, to drift, to get on the best way they can? Oh,
surely you must know that! Only people like you don't care to think
about these things. And you are quite right, quite right. Why should
you?"
Suddenly the girl sprang up and made a gesture with her hands as if to
dismiss the subject. Max, watching her with eager interest, saw pass
quickly over her face a look which set him wondering on whose
countenance he had seen it before. In an instant it was gone, leaving a
look of weariness behind. But it set him wondering. Who was she? Who
were the mysterious parents of whom she knew nothing?
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