schew scent in favour of soap. She had
quietly listened to Victoria's history, making every now and then a
shorthand note. Then she had coughed gently once or twice. Victoria felt
as in the presence of an examiner. Was she going to get a pass?

'I do not say that we cannot do anything for you, Mrs Fulton,' she said,
'but we have so many cases similar to yours.'

Victoria had bridled a little at this. 'Cases' was a nasty word.

'I'm not particular,' she had answered, 'I'd be a companion any day.'

'I'm sure you'd make a pleasant one,' said the Secretary graciously,
'but before we go any further, tell me how it was you left your last
place. You were in the . . . in the Finchley Road, was it not?' The
Secretary's eyes travelled to a map of London where Marylebone, South
Paddington, Kensington, Belgravia, and Mayfair, were blocked out in
blue.

Victoria had hesitated, then fenced. 'Mrs Holt will give me a good
character,' she faltered.

'No doubt, no doubt,' replied the Secretary, her eyes growing just a
little darker behind the glasses. 'Yet, you see, we are compelled by the
nature of our business to make enquiries. A good reference is a very
good thing, yet people are a little careless sometimes; the hearts of
employers are often rather soft.'

This was a little too much for Victoria. 'If you want to know the
truth,' she said bluntly, 'the son of the house persecuted me with his
attentions, and I couldn't bear it.'

The Secretary made a shorthand note. Then she looked at Victoria's
flashing eyes, heightened colour, thick piled hair.

'I am very sorry,' she began lamely. . . .

What dreadful things women are, thought Victoria, folding up the
_Telegraph_. If Christ had said: Let _her_ who hath never sinned. . .
the woman would have been stoned. Victoria got up, went to the
looking-glass and inspected herself. Yes, she was very pretty. She was
prettier than she had ever been before. Her skin was paler, her eyes
larger; her thick eyebrows almost met in an exquisite gradation of short
dark hairs over the bridge of the nose. She watched her breast rise and
fall gently, flashing white through the black lacework of her blouse,
then falling away from it, tantalising the faint sunshine that would
kiss it. As she turned, another looking-glass set in the lower panels of
a small cupboard told her that her feet were small and high arched. Her
openwork stockings were drawn so tight that the skin there also gleamed
white.