akfast when they got back, having seen
no sense in letting good food get cold, and was ready to sit and chat to
them while they had theirs. She was so busy telling them what she had
supposed they were probably doing, that she was unable to listen to
their attempted account of what they had done. Thus they were saved from
telling humiliating and youthful fibs; but they were also prevented, as
by a wall of rock, from getting the speech through to her ear that
Anna-Rose, trembling in spite of her defiance, had ready to launch at
her. It was impossible to shout at Mrs. Bilton in the way Mr. Twist,
when in extremity of necessity, had done. Ladies didn't shout;
especially not when they were giving other ladies notice. Anna-Rose,
who was quite cold and clammy at the prospect of her speech, couldn't
help feeling relieved when breakfast was over and no opportunity for it
had been given.

"We'll write it," she whispered to Anna-Felicitas beneath the cover of a
lively account Mrs. Bilton was giving them, _a propos_ of their being
late for breakfast, of the time it took her, after Mr. Bilton's passing,
to get used to his unpunctuality at meals.

That Mr. Bilton, who had breakfasted and dined with her steadily for
years, should suddenly leave off being punctual freshly astonished her
every day, she said. The clock struck, yet Mr. Bilton continued late. It
was poignant, said Mrs. Bilton, this way of being reminded of her loss.
Each day she would instinctively expect; each day would come the stab of
recollection. The vacancy these non-appearances had made in her life was
beyond any words of hers. In fact she didn't possess such words, and
doubted if the completest dictionary did either. Everything went just
vacant, she said. No need any more to hurry down in the morning, so as
to be behind the coffee pot half a minute before the gong went and Mr.
Bilton simultaneously appeared. No need any more to think of him when
ordering meals. No need any more to eat the dish he had been so fond of
and she had found so difficult to digest, Boston baked beans and bacon;
yet she found herself ordering it continually after his departure, and
choking memorially over the mouthfuls--"And people in Europe," cried Mrs
Bilton, herself struck as she talked by this extreme devotion, "say that
American women are incapable of passion!"

"We'll write it," whispered Anna-Rose to Anna-Felicitas.

"Write what?" asked Anna-Felicitas abstractedly, who as usual wh