With this he climbed over the stile, and returned meditatively to the basement kitchen.
When Renny reached the hut, he found the door open, and inside he could see his sister sitting by the table, pouring herself a cup of tea. She looked up as she heard his step, and then, with an expression of remote calm, dropped her eyes to the stream of amber liquid issuing from the spout of the teapot. She sat with one rounded elbow on the table, her head supported on her hand. She looked so familiar and yet so strange, sitting in these poverty-stricken surroundings, that he scarcely knew what to say to her. However, he went in, and stood looking down at the tray.
"What particular meal is this?" he asked.
"I have no idea," she answered, buttering a scone. "I keep no count of meals now."
He looked about him, at the low, rain-stained ceiling, the rusty stove, the uneven, worm-eaten floor, the inner room with its narrow cot bed.
"This is an awful hole you've chosen to sulk in," he commented.
She did not answer, but ate her scone with composure, and after it two strawberries smothered in cream.
"You'll make a charming old lady after you've spent ten years or so here," he gibed.
He saw a sparkle of temper in her eyes then.
"You will have the satisfaction of knowing that you drove me to it."
"That is utter nonsense. I did everything I could to prevent you."
"You did not send that girl away. You allowed Piers to bring her into the house with me, after her behavior."
"Meggie, can't you see any one's side of this question but your own? Can't you see that poor young Piers was doing a rather heroic thing in bringing her home?"
