“Ah,” said Kit, “there’s its attraction! The troubadours used the lute and your wife has got the joy and confidence people knew in the old spacious days.”
“I wonder whether those days were joyous,” said Blake. “All the same, Mabel’s pluck is good. When we married she undertook an awkward job, but she never grumbles. Anyhow, you’re not a troubadour. Your job’s to make drawings for modern machines.”
“There’s sober Tom!” Mabel remarked. “But supper will soon get cold.”
They sat down at the little round table, and Mabel, glancing at Kit, rather thought he ascribed to her qualities that were properly his. Kit, like her husband, had a post in the drawing office at the shipbuilding yard. He was thin but athletic, and as a rule his eyes twinkled. Kit indulged his whimsical imagination and sometimes one did not know if he joked. Mrs. Blake knew him generous and romantic, but he was a first-class draftsman and made progress at the office. In the meantime, Kit, with frank satisfaction, used his knife and fork. At Netherhall one dined ceremoniously and wore evening clothes, but one did not get food like the suppers Mabel cooked on the gas stove. By and by she indicated the piano.
“Sometimes you’re not very keen, Kit. For example, I was forced to point out I’d got new clothes and ask for a compliment; and now it looks as if you had not noticed all Tom’s extravagance. But perhaps you want to be polite?”
“I saw the piano, and after supper I’ll try it. Just now I’m very happily occupied. All the same, I’m glad to see Tom’s luck has turned.”
“The piano’s not yet ours and we’ll talk about it again,” said Blake. “Until Kit has satisfied his appetite you must leave him alone, Mabel. Although he’s sometimes romantic, he’s frankly flesh and blood.”
“The flesh is not very conspicuous,” Kit rejoined, and gave Mrs. Blake his plate. “One sees why Tom gets fat. If you’d like a sincere compliment may I have some more?”
By and by Blake and Kit carried off the plates, and when they came back Kit turned down the light and signing the others to the window, pulled the curtain along the rod. The flat was at the top of a tall building, the night was fine, and one looked down on rows of houses and the dark river. On the other bank blast-lamps’ flames tossed, and the trembling illumination touched skeleton ships. Hammers rang with a rhythmic beat; and at the top of the steep slope steelworks engines throbbed. In the background a pillar of fire, intense and white, was reflected by a cloud. The pillar sank and vanished, and by contrast all was dark.
“Janions’ converter,” said Kit. “If they roll us the plates as they agreed, you ought soon to run the Mariposa down the launching ways. I don’t know if her boiler will be ready.”