, her mouth pouting disconsolately,
her eyes heavy with passion. He watched her fixedly.

"Yes!" he said.

Again she shook her head.

"Why not?" he asked.

She looked at him still heavily, sorrowfully, and again she shook her
head. His eyes hardened, and he gave way.

When, later on, he was back in bed, he wondered why she had refused to
come to him openly, so that her mother would know. At any rate, then
things would have been definite. And she could have stayed with him the
night, without having to go, as she was, to her mother's bed. It was
strange, and he could not understand it. And then almost immediately he
fell asleep.

He awoke in the morning with someone speaking to him. Opening his eyes,
he saw Mrs. Radford, big and stately, looking down on him. She held a
cup of tea in her hand.

"Do you think you're going to sleep till Doomsday?" she said.

He laughed at once.

"It ought only to be about five o'clock," he said.

"Well," she answered, "it's half-past seven, whether or not. Here, I've
brought you a cup of tea."

He rubbed his face, pushed the tumbled hair off his forehead, and roused
himself.

"What's it so late for!" he grumbled.

He resented being wakened. It amused her. She saw his neck in the
flannel sleeping-jacket, as white and round as a girl's. He rubbed his
hair crossly.

"It's no good your scratching your head," she said. "It won't make it no
earlier. Here, an' how long d'you think I'm going to stand waiting wi'
this here cup?"

"Oh, dash the cup!" he said.

"You should go to bed earlier," said the woman.

He looked up at her, laughing with impudence.

"I went to bed before YOU did," he said.

"Yes, my Guyney, you did!" she exclaimed.

"Fancy," he said, stirring his tea, "having tea brought to bed to me! My
mother'll think I'm ruined for life."

"Don't she never do it?" asked Mrs. Radford.

"She'd as leave think of flying."

"Ah, I always spoilt my lot! That's why they've turned out such bad
uns," said the elderly woman.

"You'd only Clara," he said. "And Mr. Radford's in heaven. So I suppose
there's only you left to be the bad un."

"I'm not bad; I'm only soft," she said, as she went out of the bedroom.
"I'm only a fool, I am!"

Clara was very quiet at breakfast, but she had a sort of air of
proprietorship over him that pleased him infinitely. Mrs. Radford was
evidently fond of him. He began to talk of his painting.

"What's the good," exclaimed the mother, "of