"Mr Jones is out,"replied Clara,annoyed by this conversation through the crack of a door,and anxious to get away.
"Oh,is 'e?"said Ada,with an increase of energy in her voice."I wish yer'd come in fer a minit,if ye're not in a 'urry."Clara pushed the door open,and went in.It was her first sight of the bedroom,and she recoiled in dismay.The place was like a pigsty.Ada was lying on the bed,still tossed and disordered from last night,in a dirty dressing-gown.A basin of soapy water stood on the washstand,and the carpeted floor was littered with clothes,a pile of penny novelettes,and a collection of odds and ends on their way to the rag-bag.In spite of the huge bedroom suite with its streaked and speckled mirrors,the room seemed half furnished.
For a moment Clara was puzzled,and then her quick,feminine eye noted a complete absence of the common knick-knacks and trifles that indicate the refinement or vulgarity of the owner.She remembered that Jonah had told her that Ada pawned everything she could lay hands on since he stopped her allowance.But she was more surprised at the change in Ada herself.
Months ago Ada had begun to avoid her,ashamed of her slovenly looks,and now Clara scarcely recognized her.Her eyes were sunken,her cheeks had fallen in,and a bluish pallor gave her the look of one recovering from a long illness.The room had not been aired,and the accumulated odours of the night turned Clara sick.She was thinking of some excuse to get away when Ada began to speak with a curious whine,quite unlike her old manner.
"I'm ashamed ter ask yer in,Miss Grimes,the room's in such a state;but I've been very ill,with no one ter talk to fer days past.Not that I'm ter blame.I 'ope it's niver your lot to 'ave a 'usband with thousan's in the bank,an'too mean ter keep a servant.'Ere am I from mornin'ter night,slavin'an'drudgin',an'me with a leg that bad I can 'ardly stand on it.I'll just show yer wot state I'm in.It's breakin'out all over.