Nocturne | Page 5

there were fifty Jennys. But the shrewd, romantic, honest, true
Jenny was behind them all, not stupid, not sentimental, bold as a lion,
destructively experienced in hardship and endurance, very quick indeed
to single out and wither humbug that was within her range of
knowledge, but innocent as a child before any other sort of humbug
whatsoever. That was why she could now sneer at the stage-heroine,
and could play with the mysterious beauties of her own reflection; but
it was why she could also be led into quick indignation by something
read in a newspaper.
Tum-ty tum-ty tum-ty tum, said the tram. There were some more shops.
There were straggling shops and full-blazing rows of shops. There were
stalls along the side of the road, women dancing to an organ outside a
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
slammed down the pot in despairing rage.
In the kitchen a table was laid; and Emmy stretched her head back to
peer from the scullery, where she was busy at the gas stove. She did not
say a word. Jenny also was speechless; and went as if without thinking
to the kitchen cupboard. The table was only half-laid as usual; but that
fact did not make her action the more palatable to Emmy. Emmy, who
was older than Jenny by a mysterious period--diminished by herself,
but kept at its normal term of three years by Jenny, except in moments
of some heat, when it grew for purposes of retort,--was also less
effective in many ways, such as in appearance and in adroitness; and
Jenny comprised in herself, as it were, the good looks of the family.
Emmy was the housekeeper, who looked after Pa Blanchard; Jenny was
the roving blade who augmented Pa's pension by her own fluctuating
wages. That was another slight barrier between the sisters. Nevertheless,
Emmy was quite generous enough, and was long-suffering, so that her
resentment took the general form of silences and secret broodings upon
their different fortunes. There was a great deal to be said about this
difference, and the saying grew more and more remote from explicit
utterance as thought of it ground into Emmy's mind through long hours
and days and weeks of solitude. Pa could not hear anything besides the
banging of pots, and he was too used to sudden noises to take any
notice of such a thing; but the pots themselves, occasionally dented in
savage dashes against each other or against the taps, might have heard
vicious apostrophes if they had listened intently to Emmy's ejaculations.
As it was, with the endurance of pots, they mutely bore their scars and
waited dumbly for superannuation. And every bruise stood to Emmy
when she renewed acquaintance with it as mark of yet another
grievance against Jenny. For Jenny enjoyed the liberties of this life
while Emmy stayed at home. Jenny sported while Emmy was engaged
upon the hideous