When Ida went upstairs for the wash, the need for which Miss Isabel had
so kindly informed her of, she found that her room was clean and fairly
comfortable, though its appearance seemed strange after the huge and
old-fashioned one at the Hall. The furniture was cheap and
unsubstantial, the towels were small and thin; in place of pictures,
aggressively illuminated texts scarred the walls like freshly made
wounds, and the place had a bare, homeless look which made Ida shudder.
The dining-room, when she went down to it, did not impress her any more
favourably; for here, too, the furniture was new and shiny with a
sticky kind of shininess, as if the treacly varnish had not yet dried;
there was not a comfortable chair in the room; the pictures were the
most gruesome ones of Doré's, and there was a text over the
mantel-piece as aggressive and as hideous in colouring as those in her
room. A lukewarm leg of mutton, very underdone, was on the table, the
cloth of which was by no means clean; the dishes, which contained quite
cold vegetables, were cracked and did not match; the bread was of the
commonest kind, that which is called "household;" the knives were badly
cleaned, and the plate was worn off the forks and spoons. It was
considered inelegant to have gas in the dining-room, therefore a cheap
paraffin-lamp was in the centre of the table, and was more liberal of
scent than light. The curtains to the window were of that annoying red
which shrieks down any other colour near it; they made Ida's tired eyes
ache.
While she was trying to eat the slice of gory mutton, Mrs. Heron and
Isabel watched her, as if she were some aboriginal from a wild and
distant country, and they shot glances at each other, uneasy,
half-jealous, half-envious glances, as they noted the beauty of the
face, and the grace of the figure in its black dress, which, plain as
it was, seemed to make theirs still more dowdy and vulgar. In the midst
of this lugubrious account of the annoyances and worries of the
journey, Mr. Heron broke off to ask: "Where is Joseph? He is late to-night."
"He is kept at the office," replied his mother. "Poor boy! I hope he is
not working too hard; he has been kept nearly every night this week."
Isabel smiled at Ida, for what reason Ida could not guess; and while
she was wondering, there came a knock at the outer door, and presently
Joseph entered.
He was an unprepossessing young man with small eyes and thick lips,
over which it would have been wise of him to wear a big moustache; but
it was the fashion in the city to be clean-shaven, and Mr. Joseph
considered himself the pink of fashion. His clothes fitted him too
tightly, he wore cheap neckties, and ready-made boots, of course, of
patent leather. His dark hair was plastered on the low, retreating
forehead; his face was flushed instead of being, as one would expect,
pale from overwork.