‘Don’t we look awful?’ she said, in the queer unreal voice which she knew was her own, but which for the last few months, she had been able to hear talking as though it had been the voice of a stranger.

Francis turned and looked at himself. An expression of distaste grew on his face.

‘I do hate my nose,’ he said, and rang the handbell for the waitress.

When she came, they were sitting with their elbows on the table and their chins sunk in their cupped hands, in silence. It was Molly, their own waitress. They cheered up a little when they saw her, because she was so pretty, and they always instantly responded to anything pretty. Also, they knew her, and her presence made them feel less alone, less cut off and isolated in an unfriendly world.

‘Two steak and chips, please, and jelly and cream to follow. Two rolls and butter and two coffees,’ said Francis, fixing Molly with a firm but flirtatious eye.

‘Cream’s off,’ said Molly, smiling.

‘Just our luck. Custard? All right. That’ll do. And could you hurry them up, please, because we’re simply ravenous.’

Molly promised. Francis wanted to tell her, when she came back with the food, that they had been to their father’s funeral that afternoon, but Sophia said no, he was not to.

‘She wouldn’t understand. She’d get all shocked because we’re sitting here eating, instead of lying at home on our beds roaring our eyes out. Then we’d have to explain why we aren’t sorry, and that would take hours and be such a bore. I hate explaining things.’

‘I don’t. I rather like it, except when I have to explain to Uncle Preston. My god, it took me nearly twenty minutes this morning to explain Harry’s letter. He wouldn’t believe they wouldn’t let Harry come, and I couldn’t show him the letter because Harry called him an old fool in it.’

‘Wouldn’t they really let him come?’

‘No. They couldn’t get another man to do his part at such short notice, and besides, I don’t think they believed he really wanted to get off to a funeral. I believe they thought he wanted to get up to town to see a girl or something like that.’

‘It does sound a bit queer.’

‘Hasn’t he got an understudy?’

‘He says not. He says the chap who was supposed to be understudying him has been so busy shifting scenery that he hasn’t had time to learn his part. But he’s coming up to hear the will read, next Sunday.’

‘Oh … another ghastly family gathering,’ said Sophia, drinking hot coffee with her mouth full of steak and chips. She was enjoying her supper, and felt a little better. ‘Do you think I need go? I’m sure Father hasn’t left me a ha’penny. The family’s favourite indoor sport is Leaving Sophia Out of the Will. Grandpa did, and Uncle Oliver did. I bet you Father has, too.’

‘Father used to be jolly fond of you.’