And at this, Mary really couldn’t help smiling. As if Father could possibly have “wanted” her to come over on a special day! That, of course, was Lily’s way of interpreting Father’s having said: “We never see Mary nowadays.” And so Lily would have decided that it should be lunch. And on that morning she’d tell Kent to bring the Master home at one o’clock sharp. Well, and why not? Mary thought. What is there funny in all that? It made her smile, nevertheless.

“Which day would you like me to come?” she asked, and immediately wished she hadn’t been so unkind, because Lily flushed and her face changed with vexation like a child that has been tripped up in some slight exaggeration by a pedantic grownup person.

She answered, quite curtly:

“Oh, naturally, whichever day is best for you.”

Poor Lily, thought Mary. Why am I so malicious? She remembered again how Lily had taken her hand in the middle of the service. It seemed that, after all, Lily was all candour and innocence.

Mary’s smile became really friendly:

“I’ll come on Monday,” she said briskly, and kissed Lily, a thing she seldom did, as she got into the carriage. She could see that the public kiss melted Lily at once. They both looked round for Eric, for Kent was ready on the box. He was dawdling just inside the gate, talking to Anne, and Mary moved towards them, calling: “Come along, children.” Anne was in no hurry, but Eric started and flushed when he saw that he was keeping the carriage waiting. He blundered forward, nearly colliding with his aunt. He paused for an instant to try to apologise, and Mary had the impulse to say:

“If you like to blow in this afternoon, we shall all be at home.”

He looked at her with his large, rather startled brown eyes:

“Oh, t-thanks awfully, Aunt Mm—”

“If you’ve got nothing more amusing to do,” she added hastily, smiling, to cut short that awful stammer. And she signalled to Ram’s B, who was talking to Edward Blake, that they were ready to start.

Chapter III

III

RAMSBOTHAM was telling the not very new story of how, one week-end, the railway company had refused the responsibility of storing a consignment of his jute. So on Saturday evening he and Gerald and Tommy and a couple of watchmen had taken a lorry down to the station and brought the jute back, unloading it outside the mill gates and stacking it right across the roadway, so as to hold up the traffic. He’d been summoned, of course. Edward nodded, not listening to a word.

*   *   *

“I suppose everything’ll go on much the same.”