The Boarding House

Mrs Mooney was a butcher’s daughter. She was a woman who was quite able to keep things to…

After that they lived apart. She went to the priest and got a separation from him with care…

Mrs Mooney’s young men paid fifteen shillings a week for board and lodgings (beer or stout at dinner…

_I’m a ... naughty girl. You needn’t sham: You know I am._

Polly was a slim girl of nineteen; she had light soft hair and a small full mouth. Her…

Polly knew that she was being watched, but still her mother’s persistent silence could not be misunderstood. There…

It was a bright Sunday morning of early summer, promising heat, but with a fresh breeze blowing. All…

Mrs Mooney glanced instinctively at the little gilt clock on the mantelpiece as soon as she had become…

There must be reparation made in such cases. It is all very well for the man: he can…

She counted all her cards again before sending Mary up to Mr Doran’s room to say that she…

Nearly the half-hour! She stood up and surveyed herself in the pier-glass. The decisive expression of her great…

Mr Doran was very anxious indeed this Sunday morning. He had made two attempts to shave but his…

All his long years of service gone for nothing! All his industry and diligence thrown away! As a…

While he was sitting helplessly on the side of the bed in shirt and trousers she tapped lightly…

“O Bob! Bob! What am I to do? What am I to do at all?”

She would put an end to herself, she said.

He comforted her feebly, telling her not to cry, that it would be all right, never fear. He…

It was not altogether his fault that it had happened. He remembered well, with the curious patient memory…

On nights when he came in very late it was she who warmed up his dinner. He scarcely…

They used to go upstairs together on tiptoe, each with a candle, and on the third landing exchange…

But delirium passes. He echoed her phrase, applying it to himself: _“What am I to do?”_ The instinct…

While he was sitting with her on the side of the bed Mary came to the door and…

Going down the stairs his glasses became so dimmed with moisture that he had to take them off…

Suddenly he remembered the night when one of the music-hall _artistes_, a little blond Londoner, had made a…

Polly sat for a little time on the side of the bed, crying. Then she dried her eyes…

She waited on patiently, almost cheerfully, without alarm, her memories gradually giving place to hopes and visions of…

At last she heard her mother calling. She started to her feet and ran to the banisters.

“Polly! Polly!”

“Yes, mamma?”

“Come down, dear. Mr Doran wants to speak to you.”

Then she remembered what she had been waiting for.