There were some lilac bushes close up against the house. Lilac makes a very good screen. When I got to the bushes, I wasn’t more than a couple of yards from the house. There was a window on the ground floor. I couldn’t help thinking how convenient it would be if I could walk through the house and out into Ely Road. I suppose this made me go up to the window to have a look at it.
I wasn’t expecting anything-it was just an idle impulse; but, to my extreme surprise, the bottom part of the window was open. It seemed an impossible bit of luck. I thought I must be mistaken. I put out my hand to feel, and touched thick curtains drawn together behind the open sash.
Well, I wasn’t wasting any luck. This was a lot better than lurking in a lilac bush, so I pulled myself up over the sill and stepped down into the room.
I was still straightening myself up and wondering who on earth had left the window open, when the curtains were parted and some one said “Darling” and threw both arms round my neck. It was so frightfully sudden I couldn’t possibly have stopped her. The voice sounded quite young, and the arms were soft. I didn’t know if I said anything, or whether she just found out when she kissed me. Anyhow, she gave a sort of stifled shriek, began to push me away, and then slipped right down on the floor in a faint.
It was simply frightfully embarrassing, I couldn’t very well go off and leave her fainting, but I certainly couldn’t afford to dally. I picked her up, felt round for a chair, put her into it, and then hunted about until I found the electric light switch.
The light went on and showed the room. It was the little third room you sometimes get on the ground floor in a London house. It looked like a girl’s sitting-room, rather pretty-pretty, with lots of photographs and nick-nacks. The girl was beginning to catch her breath and open her eyes. They were the large, rolling, pale-blue sort, and she had fair fluffy hair and rather good ankles. She was dressed for going out, all except her hat, which was on the floor. I don’t know why girls always throw their hats on the floor, but they do. There were two suit-cases next to the hat.
I thought it would be perfectly awful if she began to scream, so I weighed in at once:
“Please don’t be frightened-I’m not a burglar.”
“I thought you were Tom,” she said.
“Did you?”
“Of c-course I did. And you’re n-not!” She sounded as if she thought it was my fault that I wasn’t Tom.
“I’m awfully sorry,” I said.
She put her head on one side and listened, and she said “Ssh!” though I wasn’t making any noise. After she’d listened again for a minute she whispered,
“Did you hear anything?”
I shook my head.
She was sitting up and quivering with fright. She said,
“Are you’s-sure?”
I nodded.
“If he w-wakes, we’re d-done for.”
I really never have seen a girl look so frightened. It wasn’t about me, which was something to the good. I was only some one she could shiver at and say “Ssh!” to. I said,
“Who is he?”
She said “Ssh!” again; and then, “My f-father. T-Tom and I are running away.”
“Well-why don’t you run?” I asked.
She said “Ssh!” every time I spoke, though I didn’t make a bit more noise than she did. It was most awfully annoying, and I could have shaken her. I thought I had better go before I lost my temper, so I said in a frightfully polite whisper,
“Can I get out of the front door-or would a window be better?”
She said “Ssh!” and made reproachful eyes.
“You’re not g-going to leave me?”
I thought that was the limit. I said,
“Suppose your father wakes up and finds me here?”
“I’d rather he f-found you than T-Tom.”
“Where is Tom?” I asked.
And just as I said it, there was a scrambling noise at the window and Tom fell into the room. He made about twice as much noise as I had done, but she didn’t say “Ssh!” to him. She jumped up and said “Darling!” and flung her arms around his neck just like she had done to me. I thought she might have managed to think out something different, but she was evidently a creature of routine. I felt sorry for Tom, because I could see he’d got years and years of being called “Darling” stretching before him, and I thought that after the first few thousand times he’d get bored, especially if she always said it in exactly the same way. The time she said it to me and the time she said it to him were as much alike as if you’d been playing the same gramophone record over twice.
She said it again, and Tom glared at me over her shoulder. He was a dark, stocky fellow about my own age. He looked at me as if I’d been murdering her.
“Who’s this?” he growled.
“I d-don’t know,” said the girl.
“I want to get out into Ely Road,” said I.
Tom unhooked his young woman and put her behind him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Wasting my time,” I said.
“He came in through the w-window,” said the girl. “He f-flightened me d-dreadfully, and I c-couldn’t scream because of F-father.”
I thought I’d never heard anything so mean in my life.
“Did he hurt you?” said Tom.
“No, I didn’t,” I said. “Don’t be a fool! I want to get into Ely Road. And you want to elope-don’t you? She said you did. Hadn’t we better all get on with it, instead of doing our best to wake the house?”
That fetched her, and she said “Ssh!” again. And just as she said it, there was a loud thud overhead. It might have been a piece of furniture falling, or it might have been a heavy man getting out of bed in a hurry. I didn’t wait to see, nor did Tom. I had started for the door, and as I went through it, he shoved a suit-case at me and I clamped on to it.
The hall door was not bolted-I suppose the girl had seen to that. I got it open, and Tom and the girl and I all went tumbling down the steps. I don’t know which of us banged the door. It made an awful noise, and through the noise I could hear a military voice of the first magnitude roaring for “Maisie!”
Tom had a suit-case and I had a suit-case, and Tom had Maisie as well. She was simply dithering with fright, and we hadn’t gone half a dozen yards before she wonked and said she was going to faint. She was the sort of girl who’d have done it too.
“My car’s at the corner,” said Tom. “Maisie-darling!”
The door we had banged behind us had been violently wrenched open. I looked over my shoulder and saw a large man in purple and yellow pyjamas come hurtling down the steps. He had red hair and a red face, and a considerable command of language.
Tom and I each put an arm round Maisie’s waist and ran her along. He had left his engine running like a sensible fellow, so we didn’t have to waste time at the corner. He put Maisie on the front seat beside him, and the suit-cases and myself at the back. The car was a Morris saloon. I looked out through the back window and saw the red-haired man in the loud pyjamas getting small by degrees and beautifully less. I couldn’t imagine why he should be upset about losing Maisie. It was Tom I was sorry for, poor chap.
I don’t think he knew I was there until I poked him in the back. He was steering with one hand and cuddling that limp rabbit of a girl with the other. I suppose he looked at the road sometimes, but I didn’t see him do it, and the sort of baby language he kept talking to her was an eye-opener to me. I thought if he was going to smash up the car, I would rather get out, so I spoke to him.
He jumped about a foot into the air and just missed the last tram from Tooting, or somewhere like that. He ran on out of range of what the conductor had to say about it, and then pulled up.
“Oh, it’s you?” he said.
I said, “Yes. Thanks awfully for the lift,” and I opened the door and got out.