“I don’t know what those cakes are like,” said Meg. “I made them in such a fluster. Really, you have to do things as best you can when you’ve got children—especially when there’s two. I never seem to have time to do my hair up even—look at it now.”
She put up her hands to her head, and I could not help noticing how grimy and rough were her nails.
The tea was going on pleasantly when one of the babies began to cry. Teenie bent over it crooning gruffly. I leaned back and looked out of the door to watch her. I thought of the girl in Tchekoff’s story, who smothered her charge, and I hoped the grim Teenie would not be driven to such desperation. The other child joined in this chorus. Teenie rose from her seat and walked about the yard, gruffly trying to soothe the twins.
“It’s a funny thing, but whenever anybody comes they’re sure to be cross,” said Meg, beginning to simmer.
“They’re no different from ordinary,” said George, “it’s only that you’re forced to notice it then.”
“No, it is not!” cried Meg in a sudden passion: “Is it now, Emily? Of course, he has to say something! Weren’t they as good as gold this morning, Emily?—and yesterday!—why they never murmured, as good as gold they were. But he wants them to be as dumb as fishes: he’d like them shutting up in a box as soon as they make a bit of noise.”
“I was not saying anything about it,” he replied.
“Yes, you were,” she retorted. “I don’t know what you call it then——”
The babies outside continued to cry.
“Bring Alfy to me,” called Meg, yielding to the mother feeling.