He was standing near the mantelpiece.

“Why?” he exclaimed.  “What’s the matter, Con?”

There was no answer.  He lit a cigarette.  The ebullient kettle kept lifting its lid in growing impatience.  But Concepcion seemed to have forgotten the tea.  G.J. had a thought, distinct like a bubble on a sea of thoughts, that if the tea was already made, as no doubt it was, it would soon be stewed.  Concepcion said: 

“The matter is that I’m a ruined woman, and Queen can’t understand.”

And in the bewildering voluptuous brightness and luxury of the room G.J. had the sensation of being a poor, baffled ghost groping in the night of existence.  Concepcion’s left arm slipped over the edge of the day-bed and hung limp and pale, the curved fingers touching the carpet.

Chapter 27

THE CLYDE

She was sitting up on the chaise-longue and had poured out the tea—­he had pushed the tea-table towards the chaise-longue—­and she was talking in an ordinary tone just as though she had not immodestly bared her spirit to him and as though she knew not that he realised she had done so.  She was talking at length, as one who in the past had been well accustomed to giving monologues and to holding drawing-rooms in subjection while she chattered, and to making drawing-rooms feel glad that they had consented to subjection.  She was saying: 

“You’ve no idea what the valley of the Clyde is now.  You can’t have.  It’s filled with girls, and they come into it every morning by train to huge stations specially built for them, and they make the most ghastly things for killing other girls’ lovers all day, and they go back by train at night.  Only some of them work all night.  I had to leave my own works to organise the canteen of a new filling factory.  Five thousand girls in that factory.  It’s frightfully dangerous.  They have to wear special clothing.  They have to take off every stitch from their bodies in one room, and run in their innocence and nothing else to another room where the special clothing is.  That’s the only way to prevent the whole place being blown up one beautiful day.  But five thousand of them!  You can’t imagine it.  You’d like to, G.J., but you can’t.  However, I didn’t stay there very long.  I wanted to go back to my own place.  I was adored at my own place.  Of course the men adored me.  They used to fight about me sometimes.  Terrific men.  Nothing ever made me happier than that, or so happy.  But the girls were more interesting.  Two thousand of them there.  You’d never guess it, because they were hidden in thickets of machinery.  But see them rush out endlessly to the canteen for tea!  All sorts.  Lots of devils and cats.  Some lovely creatures, heavenly creatures, as fine as a queen.  They adored me too.  They didn’t at first, some of them.  But they soon tumbled to it that I was the modern woman, and that they’d never seen me before, and it