Alice kept a rigorous gaze full of cruel pity steadily upon her mother's face.
"Why, yes—I——" She turned to Alice. "I have so much to do, Alice, I can't——" As she assisted herself to her feet, her flabby grip fell from the edge of the table. She swayed a little. "I left the oven on."
"You sit down." Alice tried to push her back.
"No, no! I must turn it off." She brushed by and left Alice looking after her.
Mr. Farley tried to be elaborately unmindful of by-play and he pretended not to see his wife's wearily bowed head and the palsied tremor of her thin neck.
As she went out, her shoulders rounded, her knees loose, her head thrust forward, her feet dragging the carpet, she left vividly the impression of her very thin neck, taut and elongated, like the neck of a goose when it attempts flight. She held her sharp elbows at right angles to her sides with the same rigid anticipation of haste.
"Has—has——" Mr. Farley could not bear to confess to the actuality. "Couldn't you let her rest for a week, Alice? You don't expect to get another position at once. As long as you are at home it seems to me that you and I could combine to keep the house going and let her off."
"She wouldn't do it. Pottering around consoles her more than anything else."
There was silence. Mr. Farley gulped his coffee. His face remained flushed and there were tears of discomfort in his eyes.
"You know what's the matter with Mamma, Father!" Alice's subdued voice sounded to him almost threatening.