nowing herself false to her principles, and morbidly
nervous of seeing the word _bornee_ lurking behind her son's observing
eyes. Seeing that it was expected of him, he occasionally made use of
it; in protest against it she threw herself, and threw Miranda, with
increased fervour, into the Intimate Contact with the People. In the
Intimate Contact the Crevequers were links. To the club-room in the
Vicolo de' Fiori (the steep alley next to that of the Crevequers) they
induced their friends to come; on Tuesday evenings, from half-past six
to half-past seven, girls and women (really a very creditable number)
sat and made paper hats, and Mrs. Venables achieved intimacy with them.
Then they danced; finally they paid a penny and had coffee and a bun,
over which further intimacy was achieved. On Saturday nights men and
boys came, and played bagatelle and spoof and quit, at Mrs. Venables'
suggestion, and mora and _zecchinetto_ on their own. The intimacy here
was chiefly achieved by the Crevequers, who joined in the games. But
every one was very agreeable to Mrs. Venables, though, as she said,
difference of language (and of faith) made confidential relations a
matter of slow growth. She envied the Crevequers their closer intimacy.

Miranda on these occasions usually sat in a chair by herself, looking
about her with slightly aggrieved blue eyes. The faint disgust in the
droop of her lips implied, 'Beastly place, I hate it.' She did not wish
to achieve intimacy. She wished that Betty would come and talk to her,
instead of playing with the People. Sometimes Mrs. Venables would
command her to go and talk to someone; then she would rise reluctantly,
feeling exceedingly conscious of her movements and quite over-large. The
People, she thought, seemed mostly rather undersized.

'What's the good, Mother? You _know_ I can't say a single thing.' Her
voice dragged plaintively.

'It will be so good for you to try. Go to that nice-looking girl over
there, making a petticoat. She is smiling at you.'

She certainly appeared to be doing so. The fact did not lessen Miranda's
embarrassment. She waited till her mother turned away, then turned her
back without ceremony on the nice-looking girl who smiled, and made for
her retreat in the corner. There she sat, yawning dejectedly, till Betty
Crevequer came to her. Betty stood in front of her, regarding her with a
whimsical scrutiny, her head at an angle of contemplation, her lips
twitching a little.