teatime; and, somnolent with boredom and sun, she gave it the briefest attention. It was the arrival of a young woman with a rucksack and traveling grip, who crossed the garden to the front door. She was slight, with a fair skin and intermediately coloured hair; neither short nor tall, nor striking in any way. She had on a grey flannel suit, evidently worn to save bulk in packing; this had made her hot, and she had sought relief by opening at the neck a blouse not designed for it. Her hair was limp with the heat and falling across her forehead; a few highlights, bleached by the sun, saved it by a shade from being classified as mouse. The general effect was timid, neutral, and untidy.
As she came up the path she saw Miss Fisher, and for a moment turned hesitantly towards her; shyness seemed to check her, and she passed on to the door. Miss Fisher took her at a first glance for twenty-one, and at a second for twenty-five; the expression, rather than the contours of her face misled. It had something left of the adolescent’s defensive uncertainty, which her carriage bore out; but whereas some women of this age seem to repel maturity with a religious conviction, she had an odd, wavering air of having somehow lost herself on the frontiers, as if a good push might send her either way. Her grey eyes, when they met Miss Fisher’s, were direct, but turned away quickly. A fine skin, and a clear shapeliness of the cheek and jawbones, redeemed her from plainness: but Miss Fisher’s verdict, which she arrived at without disturbing herself to full wakefulness, was “Very-ordinary.” She had been looking at Lettice Winter only a few hours before.
The girl had apparently come alone; as Miss Fisher settled down into torpor again, she thought this might be very nice company for Miss Searle; the college type; they could talk about books together.
In fact, when she came down for tea after repairing the effects of lethargy in the sun, she found them already in conversation. Miss Searle had said distinctly that she did not intend to be back till evening; Miss Fisher, whose afternoon now looked in retrospect more pointless than ever, greeted her without warmth. The result was a certain restraint between them, which both relieved by talking mainly to the girl.
She looked, by this time, a good deal more presentable; and, indeed, she had evidently made some effort about it. She had changed into a plain dress of light green linen, had brushed her hair (its length, like so much else about her, was intermediate, reaching the nape of her neck) and had put a little make-up on. The result was a freshness concealed before; she could have seemed delicate, even fragile, with a little poise. Now that she was less covered in loose clothes it could be seen that she had good slender bones, a well-shaped neck and neat little breasts above a small waist: but she was ill at ease (she was evidently very shy) and this had induced an awkwardness which had set her arms and legs in hard angles, cancelling all structural grace. By separate internal processes, both Miss Fisher and Miss Searle decided that by contrast with Miss Winter she seemed very pleasant and harmless. Her nervousness impressed them as a likable quality. They proceeded to draw her out.
She was neither secretive about herself, nor particularly expansive. Miss Fisher’s guess about college had somewhat overshot the mark; she had sat the entrance exam for Oxford, she told Miss Searle, but had been prevented from going up by the war. She had worked in an aircraft factory; she added that her mother (of whom she spoke in the past tense) hadn’t wanted to be left alone.
“How extremely interesting,” said Miss Searle. “Did you work in the drawing office, or at some kind of research?”
“No, I just worked on a lathe.”
Miss Fisher, warming at once, noticed that Miss Searle looked at a loss, and took over. It turned out that the factory nurse had trained at her hospital; the girl seemed shyly
As she came up the path she saw Miss Fisher, and for a moment turned hesitantly towards her; shyness seemed to check her, and she passed on to the door. Miss Fisher took her at a first glance for twenty-one, and at a second for twenty-five; the expression, rather than the contours of her face misled. It had something left of the adolescent’s defensive uncertainty, which her carriage bore out; but whereas some women of this age seem to repel maturity with a religious conviction, she had an odd, wavering air of having somehow lost herself on the frontiers, as if a good push might send her either way. Her grey eyes, when they met Miss Fisher’s, were direct, but turned away quickly. A fine skin, and a clear shapeliness of the cheek and jawbones, redeemed her from plainness: but Miss Fisher’s verdict, which she arrived at without disturbing herself to full wakefulness, was “Very-ordinary.” She had been looking at Lettice Winter only a few hours before.
The girl had apparently come alone; as Miss Fisher settled down into torpor again, she thought this might be very nice company for Miss Searle; the college type; they could talk about books together.
In fact, when she came down for tea after repairing the effects of lethargy in the sun, she found them already in conversation. Miss Searle had said distinctly that she did not intend to be back till evening; Miss Fisher, whose afternoon now looked in retrospect more pointless than ever, greeted her without warmth. The result was a certain restraint between them, which both relieved by talking mainly to the girl.
She looked, by this time, a good deal more presentable; and, indeed, she had evidently made some effort about it. She had changed into a plain dress of light green linen, had brushed her hair (its length, like so much else about her, was intermediate, reaching the nape of her neck) and had put a little make-up on. The result was a freshness concealed before; she could have seemed delicate, even fragile, with a little poise. Now that she was less covered in loose clothes it could be seen that she had good slender bones, a well-shaped neck and neat little breasts above a small waist: but she was ill at ease (she was evidently very shy) and this had induced an awkwardness which had set her arms and legs in hard angles, cancelling all structural grace. By separate internal processes, both Miss Fisher and Miss Searle decided that by contrast with Miss Winter she seemed very pleasant and harmless. Her nervousness impressed them as a likable quality. They proceeded to draw her out.
She was neither secretive about herself, nor particularly expansive. Miss Fisher’s guess about college had somewhat overshot the mark; she had sat the entrance exam for Oxford, she told Miss Searle, but had been prevented from going up by the war. She had worked in an aircraft factory; she added that her mother (of whom she spoke in the past tense) hadn’t wanted to be left alone.
“How extremely interesting,” said Miss Searle. “Did you work in the drawing office, or at some kind of research?”
“No, I just worked on a lathe.”
Miss Fisher, warming at once, noticed that Miss Searle looked at a loss, and took over. It turned out that the factory nurse had trained at her hospital; the girl seemed shyly
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