in her pocket. But how beautiful the room appeared! Emily,
whose ugly bony countenance now wore a look of excited breathlessness
as though she were playing a new kind of game, discovered a piece of
dark sad cloth somewhere in the lower region and this was pinned up
over the window. The fire was soon blazing away as though the fireplace
rejoiced to have a chance of being warm once more. A shabby but clean
table-cloth was discovered and placed upon the table, and in the middle
of this the hyacinth was triumphantly stationed.

"Now I tell you what would be nice," said Maggie, also by this time
breathless, "and that's a lamp. This gas isn't very pleasant, is it,
and it DOES make such a noise."

"It DOES make a noise," said Emily, looking at the gas as though she
were seeing it for the first time.

"Well, do you think there's a lamp somewhere?"

Emily licked her finger.

"I'll ask the missus," she said and disappeared. Soon she returned with
a lamp, its glories hidden beneath a bright pink paper shade.

Maggie removed the paper shade, placed the lamp on the table, then the
blue plates, the blue cups and saucers, the blue teapot.

A shrill voice was heard calling for Emily. Maggie had then her kingdom
to herself.

She stood there, waiting and listening. The approaching interview must
have seemed to her the climax of her whole life. She stood, clasping
and unclasping her hands, going to the table, moving the plates, then
moving them back again. Perhaps he would not return at all that night,
perhaps not until midnight or later. He might be drunk, he might be
violent. She did not care. It was enough for her that he should be
there.

"Oh I do wish he'd come," she whispered aloud.

She had looked at her watch and seen that it was just eight o'clock
when she heard a step on the stair. She had already borrowed from Emily
a frying-pan. Quickly she put the sausages into it, placed them on the
fire and then stood over them.

The door opened. She knew who it was because she heard him start
suddenly with a little exclamation of surprise. She turned and looked
at him. Her first thought was that he seemed desperately weary, weary
with a fatigue not only physical. His whole bearing was that of a man
beaten, defeated, raging, it might be, with the consciousness of his
defeat but beyond all hope of avenging it. Her pity for him made her
tremble but, with that, she realised that the worst thing that she
could do was to show pity.