Miriam, whose ears were like a hare's, cried from the schoolroom: "Then perhaps he'll have to have his boot cut off, and that would spoil that lovely pair! Whatever you do, Zebedee, try to spare his boot!"
"She never leaves me alone," Daniel muttered to the pot.
"Don't take any notice of her," Helen said.
Daniel looked up mournfully. "Wouldn't you?"
"No. Sit here and talk to me." She called through the open door. "Come in, everybody!" With Daniel on one side of the table and Zebedee on the other, John's absence was the less apparent. Twilight had not yet come, but Helen had lighted candles to give the room a festive look, and there was a feeling of freedom and friendship in the house. They all talked of unimportant things, and there was laughter amid the chinking of the cups. For the young men, the presence of the girls had a potent, hardly admitted charm: for Miriam there was the exciting antagonism of sex: for Helen there was a pleasure which made her want to take deep breaths.
"Oh!" Miriam cried at last, and flung herself back in her chair. "Isn't this good? Why can't it always be like this?"
"Hush!" Helen said.
"You know it's nicer without her."
"I didn't want you to tempt things," Helen explained.
"She's as superstitious as a savage," Rupert said. "Talk to her, Zebedee, man of science."