down the steps, climbed back on his box and drove off without looking at her again.
As he drove away, Minella gave a little sigh.
It seemed to her very strange that everybody in London seemed to think how young and foolish she was.
‘It must be my clothes,’ she told herself, but she knew that it would be impossible for her to afford any others.
She had thought when her father died that she should wear mourning, but apart from one black gown of her mother’s, which was too elaborate for her to wear in the country, she had nothing black.
After what Mr. Mercer had told her, she thought that it would be an extremely stupid extravagance to spend any of her precious money on clothes.
She was acutely conscious that a few of her father’s personal debts had still to be met sometime and she felt it would seem almost like cheating to buy something frivolous until they were all paid off.
She was therefore feeling worried as she climbed up again to the second floor but just as she reached the open door where Connie was waiting she remembered once again that, if she found herself in real trouble, she could always go to Aunt Esther!
She was stupid to let what the cabbie had said depress her.
“Come in,” Connie said, “and tell me everything from the very beginning. I can hardly credit it that you are here! And it is impossible to believe that your father is dead.”
There was something about the tone of her voice that Minella did not miss and she said,
“I just know how fond you were of him, Connie, even when you were a young girl and I suppose I should have written to you before I came to London.”
Connie did not say anything, but was leading the way into a small but very surprisingly furnished sitting room.
It was unlike any room Minella had ever seen before because it was so frilly and flouncy that it somehow seemed unreal.
A couch stood against one wall covered with cushions of various shapes and sizes, most of them frilled with lace or embroidered with sequins.
There were two armchairs, also filled with cushions, and the curtains, which were a deep pink, had long fringes and were caught back at the sides of the windows with huge bows of pink ribbon.
The carpet was a real riot of roses on a pale blue background, while the walls, instead of being covered with pictures, had posters proclaiming what shows were on at London theatres.
Minella had time only for one quick bewildered glance at it all before Connie made her sit down in a chair and then said in a serious tone,
“Have you really come here to find work?”
“I have to find some way of earning money,” Minella replied simply, “or else go to live with my Aunt Esther in Bath.”
“That would be the best thing for you to do.”
“Oh, no, Connie! You know Aunt Esther. You met her when we were children and I remember you saying how horrible she was because she had said that your hair looked as if it had been dyed.”
Connie laughed.
“Yes, I remember her. I suppose she was being prophetic. But after all, she is your aunt.”
“I know,” Minella said, “but that does not make it any better.”
Connie smiled.
“I understand your feelings, but tell me about your – father.”
Because it hurt to talk about it, Minella did not look at Connie as she told how her father had come back from London with an injured hand and how it had grown worse and worse until the poison spread through his body and killed him.
As she finished speaking, she looked at Connie and saw tears in her eyes.
“How could he – die?” Connie asked. “He was always so alive – always laughing and finding – everything such fun.”
“I know,” Minella agreed, “and now I have nothing and nobody in the world except for Aunt Esther.”
Connie rose and walked to the window to stand with her back to Minella.
“What do you want to do?” she asked.
Minella made a helpless little gesture with her hands.
“I really don’t know, but I thought I would be able to find something in London, perhaps looking after children.”
Connie did not answer and after a moment Minella added a little nervously,
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