"So good of you to come and see me in my little wooden hut," said the
widow, kissing her guest.
And Mrs. Jasher's cottage really was a little wooden hut, being what was
left of an old-fashioned farmhouse, built before the stone age. It lay
on the verge of the marshes in an isolated position and was placed in
the middle of a square garden, protected from the winter floods by a low
stone wall solidly built, but of no great height. The road to the Fort
ran past the front part of the garden, but behind the marshes spread
towards the embankment, which cut off the view of the Thames. The
situation was not an ideal one, nor was the cottage, but money was
scarce with Mrs. Jasher, and she had obtained the whole place at a
surprisingly small rental. The house and grounds were dry enough in
summer, but decidedly damp in winter. Therefore, the widow went to a
flat in London, as a rule, for the season of fogs. But this winter she
had made up her mind--so she told Lucy--to remain in her own little
castle and brave the watery humors of the marshes.
"I can always keep fires burning in every room," said Mrs. Jasher, when
she had removed her guest's hat and had settled her for a confidential
talk on the sofa. "And after all, my dear, there is no place like home."
The room was small, and Mrs. Jasher was small, so she suited her
surroundings excellently. Also, the widow had the good taste to furnish
it sparsely, instead of crowding it with furniture; but what furniture
there was could not be improved upon. There were Chippendale chairs,
a Louis Quinze table, a Sheridan cabinet, and a satin-wood desk,
hand-painted, which was said to have been the property of the unhappy
Marie Antoinette. Oil-paintings adorned the rose-tinted walls, chiefly
landscapes, although one or two were portraits. Also, there were
water-colored pictures, framed and signed caricatures, many plates
of old china, and rice-paper adornments from Canton. The room was
essentially feminine, being filled with Indian stuffs, with silver
oddments, with flowers, and with other trifles. The walls, the carpet,
the hangings, and the upholstery of the arm-chairs were all of a rosy
hue, so that Mrs. Jasher looked as young as Dame Holda in the Venusberg.
A very pretty room and a very charming hostess, was the verdict of the
young gentlemen from the Fort, who came here to flirt when they were not
serving their country.
Mrs. Jasher in a tea-rose tea-gown for afternoon tea--she always liked
to be in keeping--rang for that beverage dear to the feminine heart, and
lighted a rose-shaded lamp. When a glow as of dawn spread through the
dainty room, she settled Lucy on the sofa near the fire, and drew up an
arm-chair on the other side of the hearth-rug. Outside it was cold and
foggy, but the rose-hued curtains shut out all that was disagreeable in
the weather, and in the absence of male society, the two women talked
more or less confidentially. Lucy did not dislike Mrs. Jasher, even
though she fancied that the lively widow was planning to become the
mistress of the Pyramids.