“Is the table ready to be cleared yet?” she asked in an unpleasant tone.
Her father’s cup was half emptied. He had come to tea late, after the others had left the table. Evidently he had not finished, but he made no reply, neither did Beatrice. Vera glanced disgustedly at her father. Gwen sidled up to her mother, and tried to break the tension.
“Mam, there was a lady had a dog, and it ran into a shop, and it licked a sheep, Mam, what was hanging up.”
Beatrice sat fixed, and paid not the slightest attention. The child looked up at her, waited, then continued softly.
“Mam, there was a lady had a dog—”
“Don’t bother!” snapped Vera sharply.
The child looked, wondering and resentful, at her sister. Vera was taking the things from the table, snatching them, and thrusting them on the tray. Gwen’s eyes rested a moment or two on the bent head of her father; then deliberately she turned again to her mother, and repeated in her softest and most persuasive tones:
“Mam, I saw a dog, and it ran in a butcher’s shop and licked a piece of meat. Mam, Mam!”
There was no answer. Gwen went forward and put her hand on her mother’s knee.
“Mam!” she pleaded timidly.