“But is it ’tosh’?”

“If I were to give you a list of even the few things I’ve read about, the awful, cruel, blood-thirsty, wicked doings, it would make your blood boil at the injustice, the wantonness of it all.  Read how the Spaniards treated the Netherlanders once upon a time, the internal history of Russia, the story of Red Rubber, loads of things, and over and over again you’d ask, ’What was God doing to allow such unnecessary torture?’”

Miss Toombs paused for breath.  Seeing Mavis looking at her with open-mouthed astonishment, she said: 

“Have I astonished you?”

“You have.”

“Haven’t you heard anyone else talk like that?”

“What I was thinking of was, that you, of all people, should preach revolt against accepted ideas.  I always thought you so straitlaced.”

“Never mind about me.”

“But I do.  If you believe all you say, why do you go to church and all that?”

“What does it matter to anyone what an ugly person like me thinks or does?”

“Anyway, you’re quite interesting to me.”

“Really:  really interesting?” asked Miss Toombs, with an inflection of genuine surprise in her voice.

“Why should I say so if I didn’t think so?”

A flush of pleasure overspread the plain woman’s face as she said: 

“I believe you’re speaking the truth.  If ever I play the hypocrite, it’s because I’m a hopeless coward.”

“Really!” laughed Mavis, who was beginning to recover her spirits.

“Although I believe my cowardice is justified,” declared Miss Toombs.  “I haven’t a friend or relation in the world.  If I were to get ill, or lose my job to-morrow, I’ve no one to turn to.  I’ve a bad circulation and get indigestion whenever I eat meat.  I’ve only one pleasure in life, and I do all I know to keep my job so that I can indulge in it.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll laugh when I tell you.”

“Nothing that gives a human being innocent pleasure can be ridiculous,” remarked Mavis.

“My happiness comes in winter,” declared Miss Toombs.  “I love nothing better than to go home and have tea and hot buttered toast before the blazing fire in my bed-sitting room.  Then, about seven, I make up the fire and go to bed with my book and hot-water bottles.  It’s stuffy, but it’s my idea of heaven.”

Mavis did not offer any comment.

“Now laugh at me,” said Miss Toombs.

Instead of doing any such thing, Mavis bent over to kiss Miss Toombs’s cheek.

“No one’s ever wanted to kiss me before,” complained Miss Toombs.

“Because you’ve never let anyone know you as you really are,” rejoined Mavis.

“Now we’ve talked quite enough about me.  Let’s hear a little more about yourself.”

“My history is written in this room.”

“Don’t talk rot.  I suppose it all happened when you went away for your holidays last year?”