At the dinner hour he came back with the others, she served him and them, sitting where Ma Cleghorn once had sat, no faces missing from about the board. And Neil Quaritch looked at her: Neat piece of goods. Sulky and sweet in a breath as one of those damned unbreeked little novelists would put it. Queer the resemblance between her and Ogilvie —chips of the same bit of stone in a way—

John Cushnie, sweating, looked over his tie and wondered, lapsing to keelie-hood a moment, if she were as put-you-off as she looked. Should start with a woman twice your own age, he’d heard…. And he coloured richly over his pimples, not decent to think of a woman like that, especially now he’d ta’en up with that nice girl from an office, real superior, that he’d met at a dance—

Archie Clearmont thought, switching off Stravinsky, Lord, what a thrill to kiss her just once!

Ena Lyon thought she was putting on side, as usual, and her just a Common Servant.

Ellen looked up from her plate at Chris and smiled at her, dark, and thought she looked nice and queer in a way, as though newly cuddled.

Εwan had come back from the picket at Gowans, he thought Chris looks queer, and then forgot her, trying to work out in his mind the balance likely to be left in the voluntary fund when they’d paid out the first week’s pay to the strikers.

Miss Murgatroyd called Eh me, Mrs Colquohoun, You’re fairly looking Right Well today. Has your lad been sending you a love-letter, now? and beamed round the table like a foolish old hen, all the others looking down at their plates, uncomfortable … silly old bitch … blithering old skate … randy dame … silly thing … sex-repressed … half-witted old wombat. … And a sudden impulse came on Chris, looking down the table and smiling at Miss Murgatroyd:

No, though it’s something much the same. I had a proposal of marriage this morning.

There was a dead silence round the table a second. Εwan hadn’t heard, Chris saw his indifferent face and her heart sank, on that impulse she’d thought he’d ask Who proposed? and she’d tell the whole table and watch Ake’s face. But he hadn’t heard; and the others began a babble: Who was the lucky man? Was she to accept? Chris laughed and shook her head and said nothing and the talk passed on to other things.

Ake sat and ate up his meat, calm and sonsy, but biding when the others had gone. Then he looked up and pushed back his chair, slow, certain: and looked over at Chris.

Ay, mistress, you cook a gey tasty meal. But a word in your lug: try no tricks on me. I’m not your fool nor any body’s fool.

Chris looked at him in a curious pity, It was a silly caper, Ake.

He said that that was fine, then; and when would she let him know about this partnership business?