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		<title>XI</title>
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		<section id="chapter-11" epub:type="chapter">
			<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XI</h2>
			<p>When <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Makebelieve came home that night she seemed very tired, and complained that her work at <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> O’Connor’s house was arduous beyond any which she had yet engaged in. She enumerated the many rooms that were in the house: those that were covered with carpets, the margins whereof had to be beeswaxed; those others, only partially covered with rugs, which had to be entirely waxed; the upper rooms were uncarpeted and unrugged, and had, therefore, to be scrubbed; the basement, consisting of two red-flagged kitchens and a scullery, had also to be scoured out. The lady was very particular about the scouring of wainscotings and doors. The upper part of the staircase was bare and had to be scrubbed down, and the part down to the hall had a thin strip of carpet on it secured by brazen rods; the margins on either side of this carpet had to be beeswaxed and the brass rods polished. There was a great deal of unnecessary and vexatious brass of one kind or another scattered about the house, and as there were four children in the family, besides <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> O’Connor and her two sisters, the amount of washing which had constantly to be done was enormous and terrifying.</p>
			<p>During their tea <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Makebelieve called to mind the different ornaments which stood on the parlour mantelpiece and on the top of the piano. There was a china shepherdess with a basket of flowers at one end of the mantelpiece and an exact duplicate on the other. In the centre a big clock of speckled marble was surmounted by a little domed edifice with Corinthian pillars in front, and this again was topped by the figure of an archer with a bent bow⁠—there was nothing on top of this figure because there was not any room. Between each of these articles there stood little framed photographs of members of <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> O’Connor’s family, and behind all there was a carved looking-glass with bevelled edges having many shelves. Each shelf had a cup or a saucer or a china bowl on it. On the left-hand side of the fireplace there was a plaque whereon a young lady dressed in a sky-blue robe crossed by means of well-defined stepping-stones a thin but furious stream; the middle distance was embellished by a cow, and the horizon sustained two white lambs, a brown dog, a fountain, and a sundial. On the right-hand side a young gentleman clad in a crimson coat and yellow knee-breeches carried a three-cornered hat under his arm, and he also crossed a stream which seemed the exact counterpart of the other one and whose perspective was similarly complicated. There were three pictures on each wall⁠—nine in all: three of these were pictures of ships; three were pictures of battles; two portrayed saintly but emaciated personages sitting in peculiarly disheartening wildernesses (each wilderness contained one cactus plant and a camel). One of these personages stared fixedly at a skull; the other personage looked with intense firmness away from a lady of scant charms in a white and all-too-insufficient robe: above the robe a segment of the lady’s bosom was hinted at bashfully⁠—it was probably this the personage looked firmly away from. The remaining picture showed a little girl seated in a big armchair and reading with profound culture the most massive of Bibles: she had her grandmother’s mutch cap and spectacles on, and looked very sweet and solemn; a doll sat bolt upright beside her, and on the floor a kitten hunted a ball of wool with great earnestness.</p>
			<p>All these things <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Makebelieve discussed to her daughter, as also of the carpet which might have been woven in Turkey or elsewhere, the sideboard that possibly was not mahogany, and the chairs and occasional tables whose legs had attained to rickets through convulsions; the curtains of cream-coloured lace which were reinforced by rep hangings and guarded shutters from Venice, also the deer’s head which stood on a shelf over the door and was probably shot by a member of the family in a dream, and the splendid silver tankards which flanked this trophy and were possibly made of tin.</p>
			<p><abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Makebelieve further spoke of the personal characteristics of the householder with an asperity which was still restrained. She had a hairy chin, said <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Makebelieve: she had buck teeth and a solid smile, and was given to telling people who knew their business how things ought to be done. Beyond this she would not say anything⁠—The amount of soap the lady allowed to wash out five rooms and a lengthy staircase was not as generous as one was accustomed to, but, possibly, she was well-meaning enough when one came to know her better.</p>
			<p>Mary Makebelieve, apropos of nothing, asked her mother did she ever know a girl who got married to a policeman, and did she think that policemen were good men?</p>
			<p>Her mother replied that policemen were greatly sought after as husbands for several reasons⁠—firstly, they were big men, and big men are always good to look upon; secondly, their social standing was very high and their respectability undoubted; thirdly, a policeman’s pay was such as would bring comfort to any household which was not needlessly and criminally extravagant, and this was often supplemented in a variety of ways which rumour only hinted at (there was also the safe prospect of a pension and the possibility of a sergeantship, where the emoluments were very great); and fourthly, a policeman, being subjected for many years to a rigorous discipline, would likely make a nice and obedient husband. Personally <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Makebelieve did not admire policemen⁠—they thought too much of themselves, and their continual pursuit of and intercourse with criminals tended to deteriorate their moral tone; also, being much admired by a certain type of woman, their morals were subjected to so continuous an assault that the wife of such a one would be worn to a shadow in striving to preserve her husband from designing and persistent females.</p>
			<p>Mary Makebelieve said she thought it would be nice to have other women dying for love of one’s husband, but her mother opposed this with the reflection that such people did not die for love at all⁠—they were merely anxious to gratify a foolish and excessive pride, or to inflict pain on respectable married women. On the whole, a policeman was not an ideal person to marry. The hours at which he came home were liable to constant and vexatious changes, so that there was a continual feeling of insecurity, which was bad for housekeeping; and if one had not stability in one’s home all discipline and all real home life was at an end. There was this to be said for them⁠—that they all loved little children. But, all things considered, a clerk made a better husband: his hours were regular, and knowing where he was at any moment, one’s mind was at ease.</p>
			<p>Mary Makebelieve was burning to tell someone of her adventure during the day, but although she had never before kept a secret from her mother she was unable to tell her this one. Something⁠—perhaps the mere difference of age, and also a kind of shyness⁠—kept her silent. She wished she knew a nice girl of her own age, or even a little younger, to whose enraptured ear she might have confided her story. They would have hugged each other during the recital, and she would have been able to enlarge upon an hundred trivialities of moustache and hair and eyes, the wonder of which older minds can seldom appreciate.</p>
			<p>Her mother said she did not feel at all well. She did not know what was the matter with her, but she was more tired than she could remember being for a long time. There was a dull aching in all her bones, a coldness in her limbs, and when she pressed her hair backwards it hurt her head; so she went to bed much earlier than was usual. But long after her regular time for sleep had passed Mary Makebelieve crouched on the floor before the few warm coals. She was looking into the redness, seeing visions of rapture, strange things which could not possibly be true; but these visions warmed her blood and lifted her heart on light and tremulous wings; there was a singing in her ears to which she could never be tired listening.</p>
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