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“You don’t know what works in me, miss–” She says no more, but it is evident that something is troubling her and that she is putting restraint on herself. Late in the evening, when the children are in bed, she hears her go up to their room; there is a sound of quick blows and a frightened whimper; and the next morning she is roused from her sleep by a child’s scream and the woman’s voice uttering low threats:

“Will you be quiet?” (whimper) “will you be quiet! I’ll teach you to make a row” (more stifled, frightened cries), and she feels in some subtle way that the woman is smothering the child in the bed-clothes. It worries her, and she never looks up at her when she brings in her breakfast. The latter feels it and watches her furtively. At lunch time it strikes her that she has been drinking again; she musters heart of grace and says to her:

“You promised to be good, Mrs. Jones. It seems to me to be such a pity that you should drink; why do you? You are very young!”

Her voice is naturally tender, and her words have an unexpected effect; the woman covers her face with her hands and rocks her shoulders. Suddenly she cries:

“I don’t know; I get thinking I ‘ave ‘ad a trouble. I never knew a woman drink for the love of it like men, there’s most always a cause. Don’t think I be a bad woman, miss, I ain’t really, only I ‘ave a trouble.” She talks hurriedly as if she can’t help herself, as if the very telling is a necessity.”I ‘ad a little girl” (dropping her voice) “before I was married–she’s turned three, she’s such a dear little thing, you never seen such ‘air, miss, it’s like floss silk an’ ‘er eyes are china blue, an’ ‘er lashes are that long”–measuring a good inch on her finger–“an’ ‘er skin is milk-white. I keep wantin’ ‘er all the time–” The tears fill her eyes and splash out.”I was cook in a big business house, an’ ‘e was the ‘ead of it–I was cruel fond of ‘im. Then when my time came I went ‘ome to my step-sister an’ she nursed me. I paid ‘er, an’ then when I went out to service again she took ‘er. I used to see ‘er onst or twice a week. But she was fonder of ‘er nor me, an’ I couldn’t bear it, it made me mad, I was jealous of everyone as touches ‘er. Then Jones, ‘e woz always after me, ‘e knew about it, an’ ‘e promised me that I could ‘ave ‘er if I married ‘im. I didn’t want to marry, I only wanted ‘er, an’ I couldn’t ‘ave’ er with me, an’ ‘e promised”–with resentful emphasis–“‘e swore as ‘ow I could ‘ave ‘er. I took ‘im on that an’ ‘e kep’ puttin’ me off, an’ when I went to see ‘er, ‘e quarrelled, an’ once when she was ill ‘e wouldn’t let me send ‘er any money though ‘e ‘ad wot I saved when I married ‘im–it just made me ‘ate ‘im–I see ‘er so seldom, an’ she calls ‘ermammy, it most kills me–I feel my ‘ead burstin’–an’ ‘e laughed when I told ‘im I wouldn’t ‘ave married ‘im only for ‘er sake!”

“Poor thing, it is hard, he ought to have kept his promise to you when he made it. Haven’t you told him you wouldn’t drink if you had her with you?”

“Where’s the good? ‘E says ‘e never meant to keep it; as a man ain’t such a fool as to keep a promise ‘e makes a woman just to get ‘er.’E knows it sets me off, but ‘e’s that jealous that ‘e can’t abear ‘er name.’E says I would neglect ‘is children, an’ ‘e called ‘er names an’ says ‘e won’t ‘ave no bastard round with ‘is children. That made me ‘ate ’em first, nasty yellow things–“