PAGE 7
A Matter Of Taste
by
‘Oh, George!’ burst involuntarily from her lips.
‘I knew you’d be pleased!’ he said complacently; ‘but I mustn’t take all the credit myself. It was like this, you see: I felt all right enough about the other rooms, but the drawing-room–that’s your room, and I was awfully afraid of not having it exactly as it ought to be. So I went to the girls, and I said, “You know all about these things–just make it what you think Ella will like, and then we can’t go wrong!” We had that Grosvenor Gallery paper down first of all. “Choose something bright and cheerful,” I said, and I don’t think they’ve chosen badly. Then the pottery and china and all that–those are the girls’ presents to you, with their best love.’
‘It–it’s very good of them,’ said poor Ella, on the verge of tears.
‘Oh, they think a lot of you! They were rather nervous about doing anything at first, for fear you mightn’t like it; but I told them they needn’t be afraid. “What I like, Ella will like,” I said; and, I must say, no one could wish to see a prettier drawing-room than they’ve turned it into–they’ve a good deal of taste, those two girls.’
Ella stood there in a kind of dreary dream. What had happened to the world since she came into this house? What was this change in her? She was afraid to speak, lest the intense rebellious anger she felt should gain the mastery. Was it she that had these wicked thoughts of George–poor, kind, unsuspecting, loving George? She felt a little faint, for the windows were closed and the room stuffy with the odour of the new furniture and the atmosphere of the workshop; everything here seemed to her commonplace and repulsive.
‘How about those plans of yours now, Ella, eh?’ cried George.
This was too much; her overtried patience broke down. ‘George!’ she cried impulsively, and her voice sounded hoarse and strange to her own ear; ‘George! I must speak–I must tell you!—-‘ and then she checked herself. She must keep command of herself, or she could not, without utter loss of dignity, find the words that were to sting him into a sense of what he had done and allowed to be done. Before she could go on, George had drawn her to him, and was patting her shoulder tenderly. ‘I know, dear little girl,’ he said, ‘I know; don’t try to tell me anything. I’m so awfully glad you’re pleased; but all the money and pains in the world wouldn’t make the place good enough for my Ella!’
She released herself with a little cry of impotent despair. How could she say the sharp, cruel speeches that were struggling to reach her tongue now? It was no use; she was a coward; she simply had not the courage to undeceive him here, on the very first day of their reunion, too!
‘You haven’t been upstairs yet,’ said George, dropping sentiment abruptly; ‘shall we go up?’
Ella assented submissively, much as even this cost her; but it was better, she reflected, to get it over and know the very worst. However, she was spared this ordeal for the present; as they returned to the hall, they found themselves suddenly face to face with a dingy man, whose face was surrounded by a fringe of black whiskers and crowned by a shock of fleecy hair.
‘Who on earth are you?’ demanded George, as the man rose from the kitchen-stairs.
‘No offence, sir and lady! Peagrum, that’s my name, fust shop round the corner as you go into Silver Street, plumber and sanitry hengineer, gas-fittin’ and hartistic decorating, bell-‘anging in all its branches. I received instructions from Mr. Jones that I was to look into a little matter o’ leakage in the back-kitchen sink; also to see what taps, if hany, required seein’ to, and gen’ally to put things straight like. So I come round, ‘aving the keys, jest to cast a heye over them, as I may term it, preliminry to commencing work in the course of a week or so, as soon as I’m at libity to attend to it pussonally.’