Rosamund sat opposite, her round knees in darned brown stockings, thrust indifferently between his.
She peered at him.
‘Aren’t you well?’ she demanded.
‘There’s nothing amiss with me,’ he replied. He was a horrible colour. He turned his head over his shoulder and gave Phoebe the long, knowing stare that made her feel so uncomfortable.
Rosamund sat crunching an apple and blowing on her fingers. On reaching the station a few minutes later she gave the core to the pony, and at her leisure followed Phoebe along the platform.
III
On her birthday, which was the seventeenth of March, Mary left The Gallustree for the first time since her marriage. She went to Salus, and having walked from the station, returned about six o’clock. As she entered the yard she heard a woman’s furious voice, and Easter growling in reply. The sounds proceeded from an empty loose box, which was used for storing wood. A wheelbarrow containing several logs was standing on the cobbles outside the open door. Following a particularly loud outburst when both voices, grumbling and screeching reached a climax, when they were indistinguishable, Lily emerged stumbling, her arms thrown out as if there were force behind her. Her face was distorted. She approached Mary and stared at her with the eyes of an angry cat.
‘I should think you’d be ashamed to come out!’
‘Say something pretty for a change,’ Easter jeered.Mary caught sight of him as he stood leaning against the wall, a log balanced on each hand. He hurled them into the barrow. Lily left the yard at a run: she was leaving on the morrow and had been having a final scene with Easter.
‘You’ve got to take Lily to the station,’ the cook told him next morning when he walked into the kitchen with the milk. Her cheeks were smothered with a white grease, her soft fine hair was pinned in a slatternly knot on the top of her head. With one foot on the fender she shamelessly adjusted her garters. Mrs Pussy was sitting on the table; the cloth, stained and torn, lay in wrinkles. Easter came close to the young cook, and taking the poker jabbed it between the bars till the sparks fell in showers.
‘Warm your legs,’ he said, smiling sidelong. The cook jerked her skirt from his fingers.
‘Now then, behave yourself! You heard what I said, didn’t you?’
‘What time?’ he asked morosely.
‘Catch the ten-forty. You’d better clear; I hear Miss Phoebe. She’s in and out of the kitchen all day Saturdays.’
‘I’ll drop in tonight and make the acquaintance of the new girl.’
‘No, you won’t. You stay in the yard or get off to The Dog, but keep clear of the kitchen for a bit. Mrs Kilminster can’t bear the sight of you – you’ll have to be on the look out for a new job soon. She give me a real rowing about you being in here so much, and I’m not so anxious to see your face…’
She turned her back, planted her feet firmly on the floor, and reaching for a handkerchief began to wipe her face. As he went out she muttered it was all his fault and then,hearing the postman, rushed away to see if there were a letter from her regular young man who was respectable.
Much later in the morning Matt and his wife were sitting at breakfast. A glass door led into the ugly conservatory, where she kept her birds. They kept up a continual piping, interrupted now and then by a shrill cry whirring like clockwork running down.
Dorothy did not, as a rule, interfere with her husband’s concerns; indeed, she took no interest in them. He was astonished when she suddenly asked him to dismiss Easter. He pushed his chair away from the table and let the newspaper fall on the floor.
‘I shan’t do anything so ridiculous. Why ever should I?’
‘Very well,’ said Dorothy disagreeably. Then she began to upbraid him with Easter’s morals. ‘And you,’ she shouted in her thin, high voice, ‘what sort of an example are you?’
‘I’m a chaste man, aren’t I?’
‘God knows, I don’t.
She peered at him.
‘Aren’t you well?’ she demanded.
‘There’s nothing amiss with me,’ he replied. He was a horrible colour. He turned his head over his shoulder and gave Phoebe the long, knowing stare that made her feel so uncomfortable.
Rosamund sat crunching an apple and blowing on her fingers. On reaching the station a few minutes later she gave the core to the pony, and at her leisure followed Phoebe along the platform.
III
On her birthday, which was the seventeenth of March, Mary left The Gallustree for the first time since her marriage. She went to Salus, and having walked from the station, returned about six o’clock. As she entered the yard she heard a woman’s furious voice, and Easter growling in reply. The sounds proceeded from an empty loose box, which was used for storing wood. A wheelbarrow containing several logs was standing on the cobbles outside the open door. Following a particularly loud outburst when both voices, grumbling and screeching reached a climax, when they were indistinguishable, Lily emerged stumbling, her arms thrown out as if there were force behind her. Her face was distorted. She approached Mary and stared at her with the eyes of an angry cat.
‘I should think you’d be ashamed to come out!’
‘Say something pretty for a change,’ Easter jeered.Mary caught sight of him as he stood leaning against the wall, a log balanced on each hand. He hurled them into the barrow. Lily left the yard at a run: she was leaving on the morrow and had been having a final scene with Easter.
‘You’ve got to take Lily to the station,’ the cook told him next morning when he walked into the kitchen with the milk. Her cheeks were smothered with a white grease, her soft fine hair was pinned in a slatternly knot on the top of her head. With one foot on the fender she shamelessly adjusted her garters. Mrs Pussy was sitting on the table; the cloth, stained and torn, lay in wrinkles. Easter came close to the young cook, and taking the poker jabbed it between the bars till the sparks fell in showers.
‘Warm your legs,’ he said, smiling sidelong. The cook jerked her skirt from his fingers.
‘Now then, behave yourself! You heard what I said, didn’t you?’
‘What time?’ he asked morosely.
‘Catch the ten-forty. You’d better clear; I hear Miss Phoebe. She’s in and out of the kitchen all day Saturdays.’
‘I’ll drop in tonight and make the acquaintance of the new girl.’
‘No, you won’t. You stay in the yard or get off to The Dog, but keep clear of the kitchen for a bit. Mrs Kilminster can’t bear the sight of you – you’ll have to be on the look out for a new job soon. She give me a real rowing about you being in here so much, and I’m not so anxious to see your face…’
She turned her back, planted her feet firmly on the floor, and reaching for a handkerchief began to wipe her face. As he went out she muttered it was all his fault and then,hearing the postman, rushed away to see if there were a letter from her regular young man who was respectable.
Much later in the morning Matt and his wife were sitting at breakfast. A glass door led into the ugly conservatory, where she kept her birds. They kept up a continual piping, interrupted now and then by a shrill cry whirring like clockwork running down.
Dorothy did not, as a rule, interfere with her husband’s concerns; indeed, she took no interest in them. He was astonished when she suddenly asked him to dismiss Easter. He pushed his chair away from the table and let the newspaper fall on the floor.
‘I shan’t do anything so ridiculous. Why ever should I?’
‘Very well,’ said Dorothy disagreeably. Then she began to upbraid him with Easter’s morals. ‘And you,’ she shouted in her thin, high voice, ‘what sort of an example are you?’
‘I’m a chaste man, aren’t I?’
‘God knows, I don’t.
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