It was just ten when Alf entered the kitchen.
His father had already retired to bed; his mother was sitting up.
"You're late," she remarked sharply. "Where's Ern?"
"Heard em say he was at the Rink," Alf answered sheepishly.
Mrs. Caspar's face darkened. The Puritan in her rose in arms.
"Dancing?" she asked.
Alf feigned uneasiness.
"I'll stay and let him in," he said. "He mayn't be back yet a bit."
Mrs. Caspar took her candle.
Regular as a machine, she rose always at six, and expected to be in bed by ten.