May was scraping the scales from a large salmon trout on a bench outside the scullery door. Grasping the shiny wet tail in one hand, with energetic strokes she wielded the short black knife in the other, sending a shower of silver scales in all directions. They clung to her frizzy fringe and to the short hairs on her arms, one even glittering against the down on her cheek.
"Hullo, May," said Delight, in a conciliatory tone. She felt that, for some reason, she was not a favourite this morning.
"Good-morning, Mrs. Moth and the Flame," replied May, not looking up.
Delight thoughtfully considered this greeting.
"What do you mean moth and the flame?" she asked. "Which am I, then?"
May turned the fish over and skilfully slit its belly open, disclosing the curious tangle of inwards. "Both," she returned. "You're like the flame 'cause all the men go dancin' abaht yer, like crazy bluebottles, and you're like the moth 'cause you're goin' to singe your silly wings, see?"
"Oh, May," cried Delight. "Don't you go and turn on me! They're all after me this morning."
"Who d'ye mean, all?"
"Why, Pearl won't hardly speak, and when I went to go into the dining-room Annie gave one perishing look and said she'd done all there was to do, and to keep out."
"And no wonder, the w'y you went on wiv Bill."
"I didn't go on with him. I just danced with him. It wasn't my fault if everybody stood staring. Oh, I think you're cruel, May, and me always treating you the very best I know how." Her voice broke and tears filled her eyes. She moved close to May.
