CHAPTER SEVEN

eunrulypowersblowinglifeintostorms,disorderingsedulousmornings,anduprootingthestabilityoftheafternoon—dressmakers,thatistosay,andconfectioners'shops.Sixyardsofsilkwillcoveronebodybutifyouhavetodevisesixhundredshapesforit,andtwiceasmanycolours?—inthemiddleofwhichthereistheurgentquestionofthepuddingwithtuftsofgreencreamandbattlementsofalmondpaste.Ithasnotarrived. Theflamingohoursflutteredsoftlythroughthesky.ButregularlytheydippedtheirwingsinpitchblackNottingHill,forinstance,orthepurlieusofClerkenwell.NowonderthatItalianremainedahiddenart,andthepianoalwaysplayedthesamesonata.InordertobuyonepairofelasticstockingsforMrs.Page,widow,agedsixty-three,inreceiptoffiveshillingsout-doorrelief,andhelpfromheronlysonemployedinMessrs.Mackie'sdye-works,sufferinginwinterwithhischest,lettersmustbewritten,columnsfilledupinthesameround,simplehandthatwroteinMr.Letts'sdiaryhowtheweatherwasfine,thechildrendemons,andJacobFlandersunworldly.ClaraDurrantprocuredthestockings,playedthesonata,filledthevases,fetchedthepudding,leftthecards,andwhenthegreatinventionofpaperflowerstoswiminfinger-bowlswasdiscovered,wasoneofthosewhomostmarvelledattheirbrieflives. Norweretherewantingpoetstocelebratethetheme.EdwinMallett,forexample,wrotehisversesending: /*AndreadtheirdoominChloe'seyes,*/ whichcausedClaratoblushatthefirstreading,andtolaughatthesecond,sayingthatitwasjustlikehimtocallherChloewhenhernamewasClara.Ridiculousyoungman!Butwhen,betweentenandelevenonarainymorning,EdwinMallettlaidhislifeatherfeetsheranoutoftheroomandhidherselfinherbedroom,andTimothybelowcouldnotgetonwithhisworkallthatmorningonaccountofhersobs. "Whichistheresultofenjoyingyourself,"saidMrs.Durrantseverely,surveyingthedanceprogrammeallscoredwiththesameinitials,orrathertheyweredifferentonesthistime—R.B.insteadofE.M.RichardBonamyitwasnow,theyoungmanwiththeWellingtonnose. "Bu