Lilian. Arnold Bennett
amid a resting or roystering world; she liked the tension of concentrating on the work, the effort after perfection. The very machine itself, and the sounds of the machine, the feel of the paper, the faint hiss of the gas-stove, were all friendly and helpful. How different were her sensations then from her sensations in the pother and racket and friction of the daytime! She forgot that she was beautiful and born to enchant. She was oblivious of both the past and the future. A moral exaltation, sweet and gentle, inspired, upheld and exhilarated her.
She heard the outer door open. The threatened interruption annoyed her almost to exasperation. It was essential that she should not be interrupted, for she was like a poet in full flow of creation. Footsteps, someone moving hesitatingly to and fro in the anteroom! There was the word "Enquiries" painted in black on the glass panel of the small room, thrown into relief by the light within the room, and people had not the sense to see it. The public was really extraordinary. Even Lord Mackworth had not at first noticed it. Well, let whoever it might be find his way about unaided by her! She would not budge. If urgent work had arrived she did not want it, could not do it, and would not have it.
Then she caught voices. The visitor had got into the principals' room and wakened Mr. Grig. The voices were less audible now, but a conversation seemingly interminable was proceeding in the principals' room. The suspense vexed her and interfered with the fine execution of her task. She sighed, tapped her foot, and made sounds of protest with her tongue against her upper teeth. At length both Mr. Grig and the visitor emerged into the ante-room, still tirelessly gabbling. The visitor went, banging the outer door. Mr. Grig came into her room with a manuscript in his hand. Feigning absorption, she did not look up.
"Here's something wanted for eleven in the morning. It's going to be called for. Proof of a witness's evidence in a law case. Very urgent. It's pretty long. You'd better get on to it at once. Then one or two of them'll be able to finish it between nine and eleven."
Lilian accused him in her mind of merely imitating his sister's methods of organization and partition.
"I'm afraid I can't put this aside, Mr. Grig," she said gravely, uncompromisingly.
"What is it?"
"It's just come in."
"I never heard anybody," Felix snapped.
Lilian thought how queer and how unjust it was that she should be prevented by her inferior station from turning on him and bluntly informing him that he had been asleep instead of managing the office.
"It's an article by Lord Mackworth for to-morrow's Evening Standard, and it has to be at the Standard office by half-past eight, and I've promised to have it delivered at Jermyn Street by six-thirty."
"But who's going to deliver it?"
"I am, as I go home."
"But this is urgent too. And, what's more, I've definitely promised it," Mr. Grig protested, waving his manuscript somewhat forlornly. "What length's yours?"
"It's not the length. It has to be done with the greatest care."
"Yes, that's all very well, but-"
His attitude of helplessness touched her. She smiled in her serious manner.
"If you'll leave it to me to see to, Mr. Grig," she said soothingly, and yet a little superiorly, "I'll do the best I can. I'll start it, anyhow. And I'll leave an urgent note for Miss Jackson about it. After all, in two hours they ought to be able to do almost anything, and you know how reliable Miss Jackson is. Miss Grig always relies on her."
She held out her hand for the wretched manuscript. Mr. Grig yielded it up, pretending unwillingness and uneasiness, but in reality much relieved. A quarter of an hour later he returned to her room in overcoat and hat.
"I think I may as well go home now," said he, yawning enormously. "I'm a bit anxious about my sister. Nothing else likely to come in, is there? You'll be all right, I suppose."
"Me!" she exclaimed kindly. "Of course, Mr. Grig. I shall be perfectly all right."
She wondered whether he really was anxious about his sister. At any rate, he had not the stamina to sit up through all the night in the office. But she, Lilian, had. She was delighted to be alone again. She finished Lord Mackworth's article, read it and re-read it. Not a mistake. She bound it and stitched it. She entered the item in the night-book. She made out the bill. She typed the address on the envelope. Then, before fastening the envelope, she read through everything again. All these things she did with the greatest deliberation and nicety.
At the end she had ample time to make a start on the other work, but she could not or would not bring herself to the new task. She was content to write a note for Gertie Jackson, shifting all the responsibility on to Gertie. Gertie would have to fly round and make the others fly round. And if the work was late-what then? Lilian did not care. Her conscience seemed to have exhausted itself. She sat in a blissful trance. She recalled with satisfaction that she had said nothing to Felix about Lord Mackworth having called in person. She rose and wandered about the rooms, savouring the silent solitude. The telephone was in the principals' room. How awkward that might have been if Felix had stayed! But he had not stayed.
VI
The Telephone
"Hello, hello! Who is it?"
"Is that Regent 1067?"
"Yes."
"Is that Lord Mackworth?"
"Speaking. Who is it?"
"Grig's Typewriting Office. I'm so sorry to wake you up, but you asked us to. It's just past six o'clock."
"Thanks very much. Who is it speaking?"
"Grig's Typewriting Office."
"Yes. But your name? Miss-Miss-?"
"Oh! I see. Share. Share. Lilian Share… Not Spare, S-h-a-r-e."
"I've got it. Share. I recognized your voice, Miss Share. Well, it's most extraordinarily good-natured of you. Most. I can't thank you enough. Excuse me asking your name. I only wanted it so that I could thank you personally. Article finished?"
"It's all finished and ready to be delivered. It'll be dropped into your letter-box in about a quarter of an hour from now. You can rely on that."
"Then do you keep messengers hanging about all night for these jobs?"
"I'm going to deliver it myself; then I shall know it is delivered."
"D'you know, I half suspected all along you meant to do that. You oughtn't really to put yourself to so much trouble. I don't know how to thank you. I don't, really!"
"It's no trouble at all. It's on my way home."
"You're just going home, then? You must be very tired."
"Oh, no! I sleep in the daytime."
"Well, I hope you'll have a good day's rest." A laugh.
"And I hope now I've wakened you you won't turn over and go to sleep again." Another laugh, from the same end.
"No fear! I'm up now."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I'm up. Out of bed." A laugh from the Clifford Street end.
"Good-bye, then."
"Good-bye. And thanks again. By the way, you're putting the bill with it?"
"Oh, yes."
"And the carbon?"
"Yes. Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Miss Share."
Lilian hung up the receiver, smiling. And she continued to smile as she left the room and went to her own room and took her street things out of the cupboard and put them on. Nothing could have been more banal, more ordinary, and nothing more exquisite and romantic than the telephone conversation. The secret charm of it was inexplicable to her… She saw him standing in the blue-and-crimson pyjamas by the bedside, a form distinguished and powerful… She revelled in his gratitude. How nice of him to ask her name so that he might thank her personally! He did not care to thank a nameless employee. He wanted to thank somebody.