ichness
exuded from the broken vault-of the pastry, and she ate largely, with
the solemn greed of pregnancy. Afterwards she washed the dishes, in that
state of bland, featureless contentment that comes to one whose being
knows that it is perfectly fulfilling its function and that it is
earning its keep in the universe without having to attempt any
performance on that vexing instrument, the mind.

When she had finished, she wandered out of the kitchen aimlessly,
benevolently wishing that her baby was born so that she could spend the
afternoon playing with it.

The parlour door was ajar, and she peeped in and saw Grandmother sitting
asleep in the high-backed chair, a shaft of sunlight blessing her bent
head to silver and stretching a corridor for dancing motes to the bowl
of mignonette. She saw the scene with the eye of an oleographer. In
defiance of experience she considered her grandmother as a dear old
lady, and the hum of a bee circling about the mignonette sounded like
the peace that was in the room becoming articulate and praising God.
Enjoyable tears stood in her eyes. Drying them and looking round the
dear scene, so that she might remember it, she saw that the grandfather
clock marked it as half-past two. Now was the time that she must go for
her walk. The children would be back at school, the men would be at
work, and the women still busy cleaning up after their midday meal. She
was afraid now to walk on the Yaverland lands for fear of finding
Goodtart, the cattleman, standing quite still in some shadowed place
where she would not see him till it was too late to avoid touching him
as she passed, and turning on her those dung-brown eyes in which
thoughts about her and her state swam like dead cats in a canal; and
though she desired to revisit the woods where she had walked with
Harry, she had never gone there since that afternoon when Peacey had
stepped out on her suddenly from behind one of the pillars of the
belvedere. The marshes too she could not visit, for she could not now go
so far. But there remained for her the wood across the lane, which ran
from the glebe land opposite Yaverland's End and stretched towards the
village High Street. No one ever went there at this time of day.

Her pink sunbonnet was lying on the dresser in the front parlour, and
she put it on to save the trouble of going upstairs for a hat, though
she knew it must look unsuitable with her dark, full gown. Stealing out
very quietly so t