"And the baby?"
"Oh, the baby is out with Amy. He's that fractious with his teeth that Thomas can hardly put up with him in the house."
Mrs. Rowles was now taking out the good things from her basket. She produced a piece of bacon, some beans, about a peck of peas, a home-made dripping cake, and some new-laid eggs.
"Edward packed it with his own hands," she explained. "He hoped you would not be too proud to accept a few bits of things from the country."
"Proud? Me proud?" and Mrs. Mitchell burst into tears.
"We are too hungry to be proud," said the sick man, with more interest in his tone. "They do smell good. They remind me of the country."
After rubbing her eyes Mrs. Rowles looked about for a saucepan, and, having found an old one in the cupboard, began to fill it with the bacon and the broad beans. "We killed a pig in the spring," she said; "and Rowles is a rare one to keep his garden stuff going."
Little was said while Mrs. Rowles cooked, and Mrs. Mitchell sewed, and Thomas sniffed the reviving green odour of the fresh vegetables. This quiet was presently interrupted by the sound of someone coming up the stairs.
Mrs. Mitchell listened. "That is Juliet. There! I expected it!"
And a crash was heard, and a cry, and they knew that something unpleasant had happened.