her in a spell. She could not make up her mind to ask Mrs. Heaslip if she might.
It was eleven. The clock did not strike. It wheezed a little at the hour but it did not speak. No one spoke. At last Delight whispered:
"Have you any children, ma'am?"
Mr. Heaslip looked up from his Bible. His wife looked at him and they smiled their secret smile. Then Mrs. Heaslip answered:
"One son. He is married. He lives in that cottage across the line. Maybe you saw it as you came in?"
"Yes, I saw a little cottage. Has he any children?"
Mr. Heaslip answered this time:
"He has a son, a year old. We have never seen it."
Delight's cheeks became hotly red. She had unwittingly exposed their secret trouble. Their son, whose child, a dear little baby boy, they'd never seen. Oh, what a troubled world it was! Full of trouble. But, oh, how empty her stomach was! Like a live thing drawing itself into a knot between her ribs. She saw no sign of dinner. Visions of the dinner prepared at The Duke of York rose before her—the great roast of juicy beef, the pork and apple-sauce, yes, and it was the day for Queen of puddings. She could smell the hot jam and see the white drift of meringue. Oh, she was so hungry! She pressed her broad palm against the pit of her stomach. She thought of creamed butter beans; she thought of potatoes and brown gravy; she thought of barley broth, and drowsed, sitting in her chair.
The clock wheezed. It was twelve. Mrs. Heaslip was standing by the stove over a frying-pan. The table had been laid for four so noiselessly that Delight had heard nothing. She noticed now that the fourth person had come into the room. He had been washing his hands in
