Margot wandered about the Park so lost in her own thoughts that she was
dismayed to find that it was already one o'clock, when warned by the
departing stream of nursemaids that it must be approaching luncheon hour
she at last consulted her watch.
Half an hour's walk, cold cutlets and an irate Agnes, were prospects
which did not smile upon her; it seemed infinitely more agreeable to
turn in an opposite direction, and make as quickly as possible for
Oxford Terrace, where she would be certain of a welcome from poor sad
Edith, who was probably even now lunching on bread and cheese and
anxiety, while her two sturdy infants tucked into nourishing beefsteak.
Edith was one of those dear things who did not preach if you were late,
but was content to give you what she had, without apologising.
Margot trotted briskly past Dorset Square, took a short cut behind the
Great Central Hotel, and emerged into the dreary stretch of Marylebone
Road.
Even in the spring sunshine it looked dull and depressing, with the
gloomy hospital abutting at the corner, the flights of dull red flats on
the right.
A block of flats--in appearance the most depressing--in reality the most
interesting of buildings!
Inside those walls a hundred different households lived, and moved, and
had their being. Every experience of life and death, of joy and grief,
was acted on that stage, the innumerable curtains of which were so
discreetly drawn. Margot scanned the several rows of windows with a
curious interest. To-day new silk brise-bise appeared on the second
floor, and a glimpse of a branching palm. Possibly some young bride had
found her new home in this dull labyrinth, and it was still beautiful in
her sight! Alas, poor bird, to be condemned to build in such a nest!
Those curtains to the right were shockingly dirty, showing that some
over-tired housewife had retired discomfited from the struggle against
London grime. Up on the sixth floor there was a welcome splash of
colour in the shape of Turkey red curtains, and a bank of scarlet
geranium. Margot had decided long since that this flat must belong to
an art student to whom colour was a necessity of life; who toiled up the
weary length of stairs on her return from the day's work, tasting in
advance the welcome of the cosy room. She herself never forgot to look
up at that window, or to send a mental message of sympathy and cheer to
its unknown occupant.
Oxford Terrace looked quite cheerful in comparison with the surrounding
roads,--and almost countrified into the bargain, now that the beech
trees were bursting into leaf. Margot passed by two or three blocks,
then mounting the steps at the corner of a new terrace, walked along
within the railed-in strip of lawn until she reached a house in the
middle of the row. A peep between draped Nottingham lace curtains
showed a luncheon table placed against the wall, after the cheerful
fashion of furnished apartments, when one room does duty for three, at
which sat two little sailor-suited lads and a pale mother, smiling
bravely at their sallies.