“Nonsense!” exclaimed the propertied man, brusquely.

“It’s so,” answered the spruce little man, getting down as the tram stopped, “There’s no getting away from facts and that’s fact.”

So even out here, Ned thought, looking at the rows of cottages with little gardens in front which they were passing, the squeeze was coming.  Then, watching the passengers, he thought how worried they all seemed, how rarely a pleasant face was to be met with in the dress of the people.  And then, suddenly a shining, swaying, coachman-driven brougham whirled by.  Ned, with his keen bushman’s eyes, saw in it a stout heavy-jawed dame, large of arm and huge of bust, decked out in all the fashion, and insolent of face as one replete with that which others craved.  And by her side, reclining at ease, was a later edition of the same volume, a girl of 17 or so, already fleshed and heavy-jawed, in her mimic pride looking for all the world like a well-fed human animal, careless and soulless.

Opposite Nellie a thin-faced woman, of whose front teeth had gone, patiently dandled a peevish baby, while by her side another child clutched her dingy dust-cloak.  This woman’s nose was peaked and her chin receded.  In her bonnet some gaudy imitation flowers nodded a vigorous accompaniment.  She did not seem ever to have had pleasure or to have been young, and yet in the child by her side her patient joyless sordid life had produced its kind.

They had some tea and buttered scones in a cheaper cafe, where Nellie tried to “organise” another waitress.  They lingered over the meal, both moody.  They hardly spoke till Ned asked Nellie: 

“I don’t see what men can get to do but can’t single women always get servants’ places?”

“Some might who don’t, though all women who want work couldn’t be domestic servants, that’s plain,” answered Nellie.  “But by the number of girls that are always looking for places and the way the registry offices are able to bleed them, I should imagine there were any amount of servant girls already.  The thing is there are so many girls that mistresses can afford to be particular.  They want a girl with all the virtues to be a sort of house-slave, and they’re always grumbling because they can’t get it.  So they’re always changing, and the girls are always changing, and that makes the girls appear independent.”

“But they have good board and lodging, as well as wages, don’t they?”

“In swell houses, where they keep two or three or wore girls, they usually have good board and decent rooms, I think, but they don’t in most places.  Any hole or corner is considered good, enough for a servant girl to sleep in, and any scraps are often considered good enough for a servant girl to eat.  You look as though you don’t believe it, Ned.  I’m talking about what I know.  The average domestic servant is treated like a trained dog.”

“Did you ever try it?”