Merely Mary Ann

Merely Mary Ann, by Israel
Zangwill

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Title: Merely Mary Ann
Author: Israel Zangwill
Release Date: December 10, 2006 [EBook #20078]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MERELY
MARY ANN ***

Produced by Al Haines

MERELY MARY ANN
BY
ISRAEL ZANGWILL

AUTHOR OF "CHILDREN OF THE GHETTO," "THE MASTER,"
ETC.

POPULAR EDITION

LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
MCMXIII

First Impression, September, 1904
New Impressions, September, 1904 (twice).
POPULAR SHILLING CLOTH EDITION, 1913.

The wrapper design is reproduced, by special permission, from a
painting by Mr. Louis Loeb of Miss Eleanor Robson, the original
"Mary Ann."

MERELY MARY ANN
I
Sometimes Lancelot's bell rang up Mrs. Leadbatter herself, but far
more often merely Mary Ann.
The first time Lancelot saw Mary Ann she was cleaning the steps. He
avoided treading upon her, being kind to animals. For the moment she
was merely a quadruped, whose head was never lifted to the stars. Her
faded print dress showed like the quivering hide of some crouching

animal. There were strange irregular splashes of pink in the hide,
standing out in bright contrast with the neutral background. These were
scraps of the original material neatly patched in.
The cold, damp steps gave Lancelot a shudder, for the air was raw. He
passed by the prostrate figure as quickly as he could, and hastened to
throw himself into the easy-chair before the red fire.
There was a lamp-post before the door, so he knew the house from its
neighbours. Baker's Terrace as a whole was a defeated aspiration after
gentility. The more auspicious houses were marked by white stones, the
steps being scrubbed and hearthstoned almost daily; the gloomier
doorsteps were black, except on Sundays. Thus variety was achieved
by houses otherwise as monotonous and prosaic as a batch of
fourpenny loaves. This was not the reason why the little South London
side-street was called Baker's Terrace, though it might well seem so;
for Baker was the name of the builder, a worthy gentleman whose years
and virtues may still be deciphered on a doddering, round-shouldered
stone in a deceased cemetery not far from the scene of his triumphs.
The second time Lancelot saw Mary Ann he did not remember having
seen her before. This time she was a biped, and wore a white cap.
Besides, he hardly glanced at her. He was in a bad temper, and
Beethoven was barking terribly at the intruder who stood quaking in
the doorway, so that the crockery clattered on the tea-tray she bore.
With a smothered oath Lancelot caught up the fiery little spaniel and
rammed him into the pocket of his dressing-gown, where he quivered
into silence like a struck gong. While the girl was laying his breakfast,
Lancelot, who was looking moodily at the pattern of the carpet as if
anxious to improve upon it, was vaguely conscious of relief in being
spared his landlady's conversation. For Mrs. Leadbatter was a garrulous
body, who suffered from the delusion that small-talk is a form of
politeness, and that her conversation was a part of the "all inclusive"
her lodgers stipulated for. The disease was hereditary, her father having
been a barber, and remarkable for the coolness with which, even as a
small boy whose function was lathering and nothing more, he
exchanged views about the weather with his victims.

The third time Lancelot saw Mary Ann he noticed that she was rather
pretty. She had a slight, well-built figure, not far from tall, small
shapely features, and something of a complexion. This did not
displease him: she was a little aesthetic touch amid the depressing
furniture.
"Don't be afraid, Polly," he said, more kindly. "The little devil won't
bite. He's all bark. Call him Beethoven and throw him a bit of sugar."
The girl threw Beethoven the piece of sugar, but did not venture on the
name. It seemed to her a long name for such a little dog. As she timidly
took the sugar from the basin by the aid of the tongs, Lancelot saw how
coarse and red her hand was. It gave him the same sense of repugnance
and refrigescence as the cold, damp steps. Something he was about to
say froze on his lips. He did not look at Mary Ann for some days; by
which time Beethoven had conquered his distrust of her, though she
was still distrustful of Beethoven, drawing her skirts tightly about her
as