"I see."
"Been in bed all day, I suppose."
"No, she would get up. But she had to go back to bed at once. She had a collapse."
"Hm!"
He could not think of anything else to say.
"Haven't got to-night's Signal, have you?"
"Oh no!" said Maggie, astonished at such a strange demand. "Hilda get off all right?"
"Yes, they went by the nine train."
"She told me that she should, if she could manage it. I expect Mrs. Tams was up there early."
Edwin nodded, recalling with bitterness certain moments of the early morning. And then silence ensued. The brother and sister could not keep the conversation alive. Edwin thought: "We know each other intimately, and we respect each other, and yet we cannot even conduct a meal together without awkwardness and constraint. Has civilisation down here got no further than that?" He felt sorry for Maggie, and also kindly disdainful of her. He glanced at her furtively and tried to see in her the girl of the far past. She had grown immensely older than himself. She was now at home in the dreadful Hamps environment. True, she had an income, but had she any pleasures? It was impossible to divine what her pleasures might be, what she thought about when she lay in bed, to what hours she looked forward. First his father, then himself, and lastly Auntie Hamps had subjugated her. And of the three Auntie Hamps had most ruthlessly succeeded, and in the shortest time. And yet--Edwin felt--even Auntie Hamps had not quite succeeded, and the original individual still survived in Maggie and was silently critical of all the phenomena which surrounded her and to which she had apparently submitted. Realising this, Edwin ceased to be kindly disdainful.