I have no space (in that little room) to catalogue all the whim-whams with which she had made it beautiful, from the hand-sewn bell-rope which pulled no bell to the hand-painted cigar-box that contained no cigars. The floor was of a delicious green with exquisite oriental rugs; green and white, I think, was the lady's scheme of colour, something cool, you observe, to keep the sun under. The window-curtains were of some rare material and the colour of the purple clematis; they swept the floor grandly and suggested a picture of Mary receiving visitors. The piano we may ignore, for I knew it to be hired, but there were many dainty pieces, mostly in green wood, a sofa, a corner cupboard, and a most captivating desk, which was so like its owner that it could have sat down at her and dashed off a note. The writing paper on this desk had the word Mary printed on it, implying that if there were other Marys they didn't count. There were many oil-paintings on the walls, mostly without frames, and I must mention the chandelier, which was obviously of fabulous worth, for she had encased it in a holland bag.
"I perceive, ma'am," said I to the stout maid, "that your master is in affluent circumstances."She shook her head emphatically, and said something that I failed to catch.
"You wish to indicate," I hazarded, "that he married a fortune."This time I caught the words. They were "Tinned meats," and having uttered them she lapsed into gloomy silence.
"Nevertheless," I said, "this room must have cost a pretty penny.""She done it all herself," replied my new friend, with concentrated scorn.
"But this green floor, so beautifully stained--""Boiling oil," said she, with a flush of honest shame, "and a shillingsworth o' paint.""Those rugs--"
"Remnants," she sighed, and showed me how artfully they had been pieced together.
"The curtains--"
"Remnants."
"At all events the sofa--"
She raised its drapery, and I saw that the sofa was built of packing cases.
"The desk--"
I really thought that I was safe this time, for could I not see the drawers with their brass handles, the charming shelf for books, the pigeon-holes with their coverings of silk?
"She made it out of three orange boxes," said the lady, at last a little awed herself.
I looked around me despairingly, and my eye alighted on the holland covering. "There is a fine chandelier in that holland bag," I said coaxingly.
She sniffed and was raising an untender hand, when I checked her.
"Forbear, ma'am," I cried with authority, "I prefer to believe in that bag. How much to be pitied, ma'am, are those who have lost faith in everything." I think all the pretty things that the little nursery governess had made out of nothing squeezed my hand for letting the chandelier off.
"But, good God, ma'am," said I to madam, "what an exposure."She intimated that there were other exposures upstairs.
"So there is a stair," said I, and then, suspiciously, "did she make it?"No, but how she had altered it.
The stair led to Mary's bedroom, and I said I would not look at that, nor at the studio, which was a shed in the garden.
"Did she build the studio with her own hands?"No, but how she had altered it.
