The War-Workers

"Well, why should I?"

"Oh, I don't know – staying at Plessing, and knowing Miss Vivian's people, and so on. There are others I could name," Miss Marsh said viciously, "who take airs for a good deal less – in fact, for nothing at all, that any one but themselves can see."

Miss Jones knew from much previous experience the subject denoted by that particular edge in her room-mate's voice.

"Are you worried?" she asked sympathetically, selecting a euphemism at random.

"My dear, I've got an awful fear that Delmege means to move into this room when you're gone. You'll see if she doesn't get round the new Superintendent. She's always resented being put in with two others, and that room of theirs will always be a three-bedded one."

"But Tony and Miss Plumtree are both leaving."

"Not yet, and, anyway, two others will be put in instead. Mark my words," said Miss Marsh tragically, "that'll be the next thing. Delmege and me stuck in here tête-à-tête, as they say."

"I do hope not."

"I shall resign, that's all. Simply resign. And give my reasons. I shall say to Miss Vivian right out, when she asks me why I want to leave – "

"But she never does ask why any one wants to leave. Besides, you know you wouldn't leave for such a ridiculous reason as that."

"Well, perhaps I wouldn't! After all, I should be sorry to think I couldn't get the better of Delmege, when all's said and done. I've a very good mind to tell her quite plainly that if she's got her eye on that corner bed she'll have to come to an understanding with me first, both as to the use of the screen and who's to make tea in the morning and turn the gas out at night. I've heard tales about Delmege's trick of getting into bed in a hurry and leaving everybody else to do the work. And she and I have had words before now."

"I know you have," said Grace. "Perhaps that may prevent her from wanting to come here."

Miss Marsh looked gloomy, and then bounded up as a tap sounded on the door.

"What did I tell you? I'll take any bet you like that's Delmege nosing round now. I know the way she swishes her petticoat – such swank, wearing a silk one under uniform! Well, I'm not going to interfere with her."

Miss Marsh bounced behind her screen.

"Come in," Grace called.

"Say I'm undressing," Miss Marsh issued a whispered command.

Miss Delmege stepped elegantly into the room, her favourite "fawn" peignoir chastely gathered round her.

"You alone, dear?"

"No, she isn't. I'm undressing," said a sharp voice behind the screen.

Miss Delmege ignored the voice, and laid a patronizingly affectionate hand upon Grace's shoulder.

"What thick hair you have, dear! Quite a work brushing it, I should think. Now, mine is so long that it's never had time to get really thick, though I know you wouldn't guess it to look at it, but that's the way it grows. As a child I used to have a perfect mass. Mother always used to say about me, 'That child Vera's strength has all gone into her hair, every bit of it.' It used to make her quite anxious, to see me without a bit of colour in my face and this great mass of hair."

"What made it all fall out, Delmege?" came incisively from behind the screen.

Miss Delmege tossed the long attenuated plait of straight fair hair which hung artlessly over one shoulder, and simulated deafness.

"I just looked in as it's your last night here," she told Grace. "We shall miss you, I'm sure. Tell me, dear, have you any idea who is coming into this room in your place?"

"Not any," hastily said Grace, as Miss Marsh's boot was dropped on the floor with a clatter that argued a certain degree of energy in removing it. "I suppose it will be arranged by the new Superintendent."

"It might be kinder," said Miss Delmege thoughtfully, "to have all that sort of thing in order before she arrives. She'll have plenty to do without changes of bedroom. But of course this is a room for two, there's no doubt about it. I've sometimes thought of a move myself, and this might be a good opportunity – "

The second boot was violently sent to rejoin its fellow.

"Strange, the noise that goes on in here, isn't it, with only the pair of you, too. I wonder it doesn't disturb you; but perhaps you're used to it?"

"If you don't like noise, Delmege, don't come in here," exclaimed the still invisible Miss Marsh. "I never could bear creeping about without a sound, like a cat, myself."

"I dare say not," Miss Delmege returned, with a certain spurious assumption of extreme gentleness in her little refined enunciation. "But I hope we all know what give and take is in sharing a room – especially in war-time."

"There's more take than give about some of us, by all accounts, especially in the matter of kettles and early tea," was the retort of Miss Marsh, spoken with asperity.

Miss Delmege turned to Grace.

"Well, dear, as I don't propose to have words either now or at any other hour, I shall say good-night. Do you mean to say you manage with only one screen?"

"Quite well. Besides, there are two round the other bed."

"I dare say that's very necessary," said Miss Delmege pointedly, as she moved to the door. "Good-night, dear."

"Good-night," said Grace, not without thankfulness.

"Good-night," repeated Miss Delmege to the screen. "When I'm in here, I shall certainly insist upon having an extra screen. I can't imagine how anybody can manage with one only. And each will keep to her own side of the room, too, instead of leaving her things all over the other's. What I call untidy, some of these arrangements are. But, of course, it's all what one's been used to, isn't it?"

Leaving no time for a reply to this favourite inquiry, Miss Delmege shut the door gently behind her.

Grace, proceeding to bed under the flow of eloquence directed at her from behind Miss Marsh's screen, conjectured that the bedroom would know no lack of spirited conversation between its inmates in the future.

The next morning Miss Marsh asked her at breakfast: "Shall you go and say good-bye to Miss Vivian?"

"I don't think it's necessary, is it?" Grace said hesitatingly.

"I can easily find out for you, dear, if she can see you for a moment," Miss Delmege kindly volunteered.

The opinion of the Hostel instantly veered round to an irrevocable certainty that a farewell to Miss Vivian was not necessary.

"After all, she'd only say she was too busy to see you."

"Or say she couldn't conscientiously recommend you for clerical work, as she did to poor Plumtree when she gave in her resignation the other day."

"After Plumtree has toiled over those beastly averages for the best part of two years!"

It was evident that the temper of the staff, for one reason or another, was undergoing a very thorough reaction indeed.

Only Miss Delmege remarked firmly: "I know nothing about Plumtree's work, I'm sure, but if there's one thing Miss Vivian is, it's just. Quite impartially speaking, one can't help seeing that, and especially being, as I am, in the position of her secretary. As I always say, I get at the human side of her."

"Inhuman, I call it," muttered Tony, Miss Plumtree's chief ally.