Margaret stretched her hand for more bread. Despite the moving scenes in which during the night she had travelled with her Bill, her appetite was nothing affected. With her meals her sentimentality was upon the friendliest terms. This girl was most gnawed by hunger when by emotion she was most torn.
She stretched for a third slice.
Mr. Marrapit cleared his throat. The sound shot her. She caught his eye and the glance pierced her. Her outstretched hand dropped upon the cloth, toyed with crumbs.
Mr. Marrapit said: “I perceive you are finished?”
Margaret murmured: “Yes.” Her voice had a tremulous note. It is a bitter thing to lose a slice of bread-and-butter for which the whole system imperatively calls.
“Withdraw,” Mr. Marrapit commanded.
She put a lingering glance upon the loaf; wanly glided from the room.
II.
As she closed the door George prepared for his great idea. He drank deeply of a cup of tea; drew down his cuffs; pondered them. They were covered in pencilled notes, evolved by desperate work all that morning, to aid him when the hour was at hand.
He absorbed Note I; spoke: “I am afraid last night's events very much distressed you, sir—”