The Death of the Heart - Elizabeth Bowen [22]
They had to go to Cavendish Square. Miss Paullie, at her imposing address, organised classes for girls—delicate girls, girls who did not do well at school, girls putting in time before they went abroad, girls who were not to go abroad at all. She had room for about a dozen pupils like this. In the mornings, professors visited her house; m the afternoon there were expeditions to galleries, exhibitions, museums, concerts or classical matinées. A girl,
by special arrangement, could even take lunch at Miss Paullie's house—this was the least of many special arrangements: her secretary lived on the telephone. All her arrangements, which were enterprising, worked out very well—accordingly Miss Paullie's fees were high. Though Thomas had rather jibbed at the expense, Anna convinced him of Miss Paullie's excellent value—she solved the problem of Portia during the day; what Portia learned might give her something to talk about, and there was always a chance she might make friends. So far, she had made only this one friend, Lilian, who lived not far away, in Nottingham Place.
Anna did not think Lilian very desirable, but this could not be helped. Lilian wore her hair forward over her shoulders in two long loose braids, like the Lily Maid. She wore a removed and mysterious expression; her rather big pretty developed figure already caught the eye of men in the street. She had had to be taken away from her boarding school because of falling in love with the 'cello mistress, which had made her quite unable to eat. Portia thought the world of the things Lilian could do—she was said, for instance, to dance and skate very well, and had one time fenced. Otherwise, Lilian claimed to have few pleasures: she was at home as seldom as possible, and when at home was always washing her hair. She walked about with the rather fated expression you see in photographs of girls who have subsequently been murdered, but nothing had so far happened to her.... This morning, when she saw Portia coming, she signalled dreamily with a scarlet glove.
Portia came up with a rush. "Oh dear, I'm afraid I have made us late. Come on, Lilian, we shall have to fly."
"I don't want to run: I am not very well today."
"Then we'd better take a 153."
"If there is one," said Lilian. (These buses are very rare.) "Have I got blue rings under my eyes?"
"No. What did you do yesterday evening?"
"Oh, I had an awful evening. Did you?"
"No," said Portia, rather apologetic. "Because we went to the Empire. And imagine, quite by chance we met a man who knew someone Anna used once to know. Major Brutt, his name was—not the person she knew, the man."
"Was your sister-in-law upset?"
"She was surprised, because he did not even know she was married."
"I am often upset when I meet a person again."
"Have you seen a person make an orange balance on the rim of a plate?"
"Oh, anyone could: you just need a steady hand."
"All the people Anna always knows are clever."
"Oh, you've brought your handbag with you today?"
"Matchett said I was such a silly not to."
"You carry it in rather a queer way, if you don't mind my saying. I suppose you will get more used to it."
"If I got too used, I might forget I had it, then I might forget and leave it somewhere. Show me, though, Lilian, how you carry yours."
They had come out into Marylebone High Street, where they stood for a minute, patiently stamping, on chance of there being a 153 bus. The morning was colder than yesterday morning; there was a black frost that drove in. But they did not comment upon the weather, which seemed to them part of their private fate—brought on them by the act of waking up, like grown-up people's varying tempers, or the state, from day to day, of