She curbed herself savagely. She wouldn’t lose her temper. Damn, damn, damn ... his damned impudence.
“When is she coming?”
“I don’t know yet. To-morrow morning, I dare say.”
“Well, then, we’ll have the Picnic to-morrow, get it over with.”
He began to say something, put out his hand, but she brushed fiercely past him and ran into the dining room. She tore her letter into shreds, together with the clean sheet she had brought down. The room was full of a warm irritating buzz.
“George!” she cried angrily, with undeniable command. “Come here and put out this damned bee!”
III
THE kitchen was hot, flies were zigzagging just under the ceiling, swerving silly triangles of ecstasy in the rising savour of roast and sizzling gravy.
“Lizzie, you must keep the screen door latched. There was a big bee in the dining room. That’s how they get in.—Where are the children?”
“It’s that man, he always leaves it open.”