public-house. Shops, shops, houses, houses, houses ... light,
darkness.... Jenny gathered her skirt. This was where she got down. One
glance at the tragic lady of the mirror, one glance at the rising smoke
that went to join the general cloud; and she was upon the iron-shod
stairs of the car and into the greasy roadway. Then darkness, as she
turned along beside a big building into the side streets among rows and
rows of the small houses of Kennington Park.


iii

It was painfully dark in these side streets. The lamps drew beams such a
short distance that they were as useless as the hidden stars. Only down
each street one saw mild spots starting out of the gloom, fascinating in
their regularity, like shining beads set at prepared intervals in a body
of jet. The houses were all in darkness, because evening meals were laid
in the kitchens: the front rooms were all kept for Sunday use, excepting
when the Emeralds and Edwins and Geralds and Dorises were practising
upon their mothers' pianos. Then you could hear a din! But not now. Now
all was as quiet as night, and even doors were not slammed. Jenny
crossed the street and turned a corner. On the corner itself was a small
chandler's shop, with "Magnificent Tea, per 2/- lb."; "Excellent Tea, per
1/8d. lb"; "Good Tea, per 1/4d. lb." advertised in great bills upon its
windows above a huge collection of unlikely goods gathered together like
a happy family in its tarnished abode. Jenny passed the dully-lighted
shop, and turned in at her own gate. In a moment she was inside the
house, sniffing at the warm odour-laden air within doors. Her mouth drew
down at the corners. Stew to-night! An amused gleam, lost upon the dowdy
passage, fled across her bright eyes. Emmy wouldn't have thanked her for
that! Emmy--sick to death herself of the smell of cooking--would have