Miss Ethel felt--as she was intended to feel--that it was not within her power to comprehend the mysteries of the conjugal state; so acquiescing from long habit in her sister's torpidity, she went on with her dusting.

But her head ached appallingly, and she looked at the clock-hands nearing five with a feeling that she could bear the sounds of building so long and no longer. If they lasted a single minute beyond that time something inside her head would snap. Knock--knock--knock; sc.r.a.pe--sc.r.a.pe; the thud of something thrown down. She felt her breath coming fast as she waited for the moment when her aching senses would be lulled by the cessation of it all--when she would rest on a blissful silence.

"Thank G.o.d, it's five o'clock!" she said, flinging down her duster.

"Yes. The men will be leaving work now," said Mrs. Bradford.

Miss Ethel continued her work again, moving quietly about the room.

Wave after wave of wet salt air was rolling in from the sea, pressing upon that which travelled slowly inland, so that the roke grew very dense, and the little house seemed to be cut off from all the world.

Miss Ethel sat down and leaned her head back with her eyes shut: Mrs.

Bradford continued to read the paper, then rustled a page and looked at her sister over it. As she did so, Miss Ethel sat up with a jerk and stared across the room.

"Bless me!" said Mrs. Bradford, "what are you staring at me like that for, Ethel? Do I look ill?" And she began to wonder if she felt ill, for she always feared a stroke.

"Listen!" said Miss Ethel in an odd tone. "Don't you hear them? They are working overtime."

Mrs. Bradford took her paper up irritably. "Goodness! Is that all."

She also listened, then added: "What nonsense you talk, Ethel! There is not a sound. They have stopped work for the night."

Miss Ethel walked to the window where the grey air clung to the gla.s.s and stood there a moment, listening intently. It was true. She could hear nothing.

But as soon as she sat down by the fire and was not thinking, it began again--knock, knock, knock. . . .

"They are there still," she said. "They must be."

"I tell you they are not," said Mrs. Bradford. "You have simply got the noise on your nerves. If you don't take care, you will be really ill. You think about the noise morning, noon and night, until you fancy you hear it."

"I'm not a fool," said Miss Ethel. "Surely I know whether I hear a noise or not."

"I don't know about that," said Mrs. Bradford. "I saw a case in the paper of a man who fancied he heard a drum beating when there was nothing at all, really."

"But I'm not 'a case,'" said Miss Ethel, tartly, pressing her hand to her forehead. "And I'm going to see if the men really _have_ left or not."

Mrs. Bradford glanced out of the window. "Well, you must want something to do," she said. "You might just hand me that sheet you were reading, as you go out."

The door banged. Miss Ethel's dim form was visible for a moment as she pa.s.sed the window then the mist hid her altogether.

Caroline was also engulfed in it as soon as she came out of the little shelter at the entrance of the promenade. She could taste it on her lips, the wet drops clung to her eyelashes. Lillie, who had just arrived to take her place, looked all out of curl like a moulting bird, but both of them were spiritualized by the grey mist which blurred their outlines and through which their lips and eyes showed fresh and wistful.

"Pity you've got your new hat on, Carrie," said Lillie, shaking out her knitted cap. Then she giggled. "But I suppose you were expecting to meet your boy at the train."

Carrie shook her head. "No, I'm going back home first. I have to see about supper."

"I expect you'll take the place on altogether when the season's over,"

said the girl.

"Not me!" said Caroline, answering the faint echo of condescension in the other's tone. "I've told you time and again, Lillie, how it was I went there. What's more, I'm telling Miss Ethel to-night that I can't stop any longer."

She had not meant to do it precisely on this evening, but suddenly found herself in possession of a full-fledged decision.

"What are you going to do after the prom. closes then," said Lillie.

"Take a post in an office in Flodmouth," said Caroline.

"But you can't do typewriting or shorthand," said Lillie, unimpressed.

"You won't find it so easy. I know I had my work set to get a decent job to go to in October, and I'm thoroughly trained. I only took to this on account of my health. I never----"

"You've told me that before," interposed Caroline shortly. "And I can do typewriting. I have been taking lessons with Miss Wannock."

"Well, I wish you luck, I'm sure," said Lillie shortly, shutting down the little window with a click to keep out the damp. She was sufficiently good-hearted, but the trades union spirit was in her and she did not like the idea that another girl should find a post without going through exactly the same training as herself.

Caroline turned towards the main road where n.o.body could be distinguished twenty yards away and men looked like trees walking; but after a minute or two she noticed something in the general shape and gait of a man coming her way which made her feel sure it was Wilson.

She wondered whether he would speak if he caught her up, or whether he would fail to recognize her in the mist, or would give a brief good afternoon and pa.s.s on. She slackened speed a little, for though she was still angry with him it would be a "bit of fun" to hear what he had to say. There was also another and far more potent reason. If he walked with her, Lillie would be proved in the wrong; for he would not walk and talk with one whom he regarded as his relatives' maid-servant.

But he was nearly past and did not look her way.

"Good evening, Mr. Wilson," she piped then; her voice sounding crudely loud to herself in the grey stillness. But she had to prove her place in the world--make certain of it, lest she should lose it.

"Oh!" He swung round, peering into her face--at first not remembering her. Then something in her bright glance reminded him. "So it is you, is it? Hurrying home to get ready to dance again to-night, I suppose?"

He spoke indifferently, disinclined for adventure in the chill, damp atmosphere of this late afternoon. Still he went on, being by nature somewhat expansive. "Is Miss Wilson at home this afternoon, do you know?" then fell into step by Caroline's side without thinking of it.

"Yes. Were you wanting to see her?" said Caroline; but underneath, she was saying to herself: "If I'd done what Aunt Creddle wanted, and been a servant out and out, I should never have walked with Mr. Wilson like this." She felt consciously proud of being a "business girl"--one of the great company that had every evening free, and could wear low necks and powder their faces. But there was more than that in it----

Wilson glanced sideways at her, vaguely satisfied with the lightness of her step by his side and the look of her lips and eyes through the mist. His interest was beginning to wake again. "I am going to the Cottage with some tickets for that Garden Fete for the Hospital which Miss Ethel and Miss Temple are helping to get up."

"Oh, can I take them?" said Caroline.

"No, thank you. I have a message from Miss Temple to deliver as well,"

he answered.

There was practically no one to be seen on the road--only a few distant objects moving in the mist--and it would have been awkward for either of them to leave the other, so they settled down to walk all the way to the Cottage together.

She spoke abruptly, nervously. "I'm leaving soon, you know. I'm going into an office. I can type, but I can't do shorthand. Still, I aren't afraid of work. If only I could get a bit more practice I should be a very quick typist--the teacher says so."

He walked on, saying nothing, and she thought she had offended him--no doubt he feared she was going to ask him to give her a job. She flushed crimson and added quickly: "I shall find a job all right. A friend of mine is looking round for me."

He turned to her, smiling, and his tone was slightly more familiar than it would have been to a girl of his ordinary acquaintance. "I see.

The friend I saw you with at the dance. Well, I hope he'll find what you want."

"I have no doubt he will, thank you," said Caroline.

Wilson was silent for a few minutes. "Look here," he said, "I think we have a spare machine at the office that I could lend you for a time to practise on. You must have practice."

Then he waited complacently for her to swing round towards him--as she did--her eyes and voice filled with surprised grat.i.tude: for he was getting on well in the world himself, and he liked sometimes to feel what a good-hearted fellow he was, in spite of it.

"Oh, that's all right," he said. "But I am sorry you have to leave Miss Wilson."

"So am I, in a way. But you must look after yourself in these days,"