The Lady of the Basement Flat | Page 5

of memories to be a healthy shelter. Kathie and I have lived here
ever since we left school, first with father, then after his death with an
old governess-companion. Since her marriage a year ago we have been
alone, luxuriating in our freedom, and soothing the protestations of
aunts by constant promises to look out for a successor. Then Kathie
met Basil Anderson, and no one was cruel enough to grudge us our last
months together.
Now I am alone, with no one in the world to consider beside myself,
with my own home to make, my own work to find, my own happiness
to discover. Does it make it better or worse, I wonder, that I am rich,
and the question of money does not enter in? Ninety-nine people out of
a hundred would answer at once that it is better, but I'm not so sure. If I
had a tiny income, just enough to ensure me from absolute want, hard
regular work would be necessary, and might be good for body and
brain. I want work! I must have it if I am to keep going, but the
mischief is, I have never been taught to be useful, and I have no idea
what I could do! I can drive a car. I can ride anything that goes on four
legs. I can dance, and skate, and arrange flowers with taste. I can
re-trim a hat, and at a pinch make a whole blouse. I can order a nice
meal, and grumble when it is spoiled. I can strum on the piano and
paint Christmas cards. I can entertain a house-party of big-wigs.
I have also (it seems a queer thing to say!) a kind of genius for

simply--being kind! The poor people in the village call me "the kind
one," to distinguish me from Kathie, who, poor lamb! never did an
unkind thing in her life. But she didn't always understand, that was the
difference. When they did wrong she was shocked and estranged, while
I felt dreadfully, dreadfully sorry, and more anxious than ever to help
them again. Kathie used to think me too mild, but I don't know! The
consequences of sin are so terrible in themselves, that I always long to
throw in a lot of help with the blame. The people about here seem to
know this by instinct, for they come to me in their troubles and
anxieties and--shames, poor souls! and open their hearts as they do to
nobody else. "Sure then, most people are kind in patches," an old
woman said to me one day; "'tis yourself that is kind all round!"
I don't know that it's much credit to do what is no effort, and certainly
if I could choose a role in life it would be to play the part of a good
fairy, comforting people, cheering them up, helping them over stiles,
springing delightful little surprises upon them, just where the road
looked blocked! The trouble is that I've no gift for organised charity. I
have a pretty middling strong will of my own ("pigheadedness" Aunt
Emmeline calls it!) and committees drive me daft. They may be useful
things in their way, but it's not my way. I want to get to work on my
own, and not to sit talk, talk, talking over every miserable, piffling little
detail. No! If I play fairy, I must at least be free to wave my own wand,
and to find my own niche where I can wave it to the best advantage.
The great, all-absorbing question is--where and how to begin?
Advertisements are the orthodox refuge of the perplexed. Suppose, for
the moment, that I advertised, stating my needs and qualifications in
the ordinary shilling-a-line fashion. It would run something like this:--
"Lady. Young. Healthy. Good appearance. Seeks occupation for a
loving heart. Town or country. Travel if required."
It sounds like an extract from a matrimonial paper. I wonder how many,
or, to speak more accurately, how few bachelors would exhibit any
anxiety to occupy the vacancy. I might add "private means," and then
the answers would arrive in sacks, I should have the offer of a hundred
husbands, and a dozen kind homes, with hot and cold water, cheerful

society, a post office within a mile, and a golf course in the
neighbourhood. A hundred mothers of families would welcome me to
their bosoms, and a hundred spinsters would propose the grand tour and
intellectual companionship; but I want to be loved for myself, and in
return to love, and to help--
I am not thinking of marriage. Some day I shall probably fall in love,
like everyone else, and be prepared to go off to the Ural Mountains or
Kamtschatka, or any other remote spot, for the privilege