It was partly out of kindness to Thyrza that Totty Nancarrow had changed her mind about going to Eastbourne.  Having seen her and mentioned the matter, Totty saw at once how eagerly Thyrza would accept such a chance.  But it happened that within the same hour she saw Luke Ackroyd, and Luke had proposed a meeting on Saturday afternoon.  Totty had no extreme desire to meet him, and yet—­ perhaps she might as well.  He talked of going up the river to Battersea Park, as the weather was so fine.

So at three on Saturday, Totty stood by the landing-stage at Lambeth.  In fact, she was there at least five minutes before the appointed time.  But her punctuality was wasted.  Ten minutes past three by Lambeth parish church, and no Mr. Ackroyd.

‘Well, I call this nice!’ Totty exclaimed to herself.  ’Let him come now if he likes; he won’t find me waiting for him.  And a lot I care!’

She went off humming a tune and swinging her hands.  On the Embankment she met a girl she knew.  They went on into Westminster Bridge Road, and there came across another friend.  It was decided that they should all go and have tea at Totty’s.  And before they reached Newport Street, yet another friend joined them.  The more the merrier!  Totty delighted in packing her tiny room as full as it would hold.  She ran into Mrs. Bower’s for a pot of jam.  Who more mirthful now than Totty Nancarrow!

With subdued gossip and laughter all ran up the narrow staircase and into Totty’s room.  A fire had first of all to be lit; Totty was a deft hand at that; not a girl in Lambeth could start a blaze and have her kettle boiling in sharper time on a cold dark morning.  But, after all, there would not be bread enough.  Tilly Roach would be off for that.  ‘Mind you bring the over-weight!’ the others screamed after her, and some current joke seemed to be involved in the injunction, for at once they all laughed as only work-girls can.

Tilly was back in no time.  She was a little, slim girl, with the palest and shortest of gold hair, and a pretty face spoilt with freckles.  As at all times, she had her pocket full of sweets, and ate them incessantly.  As a rule, Tilly cannot have eaten less than a couple of pounds of lollipops every week, and doubtless would have consumed more had her pocket-money allowed it.  The second of Totty’s guests was Annie West, whom you know already, for she was at the ‘friendly lead’ when Thyrza sang; she was something of a scapegrace, constantly laughed in a shrill note, and occasionally had to be called to order.  The third was a Mrs. Allchin, aged fifteen, a married woman of two months’ date; her hair was cut across her forehead, she wore large eardrops, and over her jacket hung a necklace with a silver locket.  Mrs. Allchin, called by her intimates ‘Loo,’ had the air of importance which became her position.

There were only two chairs in the room; the table had to be placed so that the bed could serve for sitting.  Tablecloth there was none; when friends did her the honour of coming to tea, Totty spread a newspaper.  The tea-service was, to say the least, primitive; four cups there were, but only two saucers survived, and a couple of teaspoons had to be shared harmoniously.  No one ever gave a thought to such trifles at Totty Nancarrow’s.