“Why not give it up for a bit?”
“Oh no, can’t give it up, does one good, you know.”
“Then I’ll get breakfast ready.”
He went through the kitchen and into his room while she began leisurely putting out the breakfast things. A sheet of chill winter sunlight lay on the floor, and some of it was spilled over the window frame as well. She dabbled her feet in it and it came up to her knees. In her hand was the teapot, and, in the other, half a loaf of bread. There came the sound of a cork being drawn in the next room, which sent a shiver pleasurably down her spine. It got rather dull here when he knocked off the drink. But still, it was bad for him. Turning, she put the things down on the table and then went over to the cupboard.
A cough came from the next room. Then the door opened and he came through, a faint flush over his face, and went out of doors. From outside he shouted through the window:
“It’s great to-day.”
And there were patches of blue sky. Oh, it was going to clear up. Was there enough milk? Yes, just. Anyhow he wouldn’t get angry, not yet awhile, at any rate. Marry? Who was there to marry? No one as far as she could see. They were all too difficult or too easy. George was only something to do, if she hadn’t had someone to think of she would have gone mad. That new milk-lorry man was so nice-looking. But she ought to stand by Father, it was easier that way. Why marry, anyway? It would turn out right in the end.
Mrs. Donner said that the other night when the wind had risen so, a tree had blown down across the road and had prevented Mrs. Haye getting to Barwood without wetting her feet, and that was a good thing. What did she mean by writing to Father? She would like to marry John now, just to spite her. She poured milk out of the can into the teapot, and then began to wash up the plates from over-night. Father did not like eating off dirty plates, and it wasn’t really very nice either. She would have to change this water she washed everything in, it was so greasy that you couldn’t do anything with it, and it smelt rather. They might as well have some of that tinned herring. They had eaten it once too often, but still it was good.
Father was better. He hadn’t been like this in the morning for many a time. So pleasant to talk to, and he hadn’t minded about breakfast. Yes, she would stay here and help him, he needed her, and look how much better he was already. And what would they do then? You didn’t know. It was not as if he could have a living again. But he would find some job, sure to. She laid out the clean plates and put out the butter. Had a mouse or something been at it? They were devils, those vermin, they got into everything and ate all that they set eyes on. There was nothing to be done, you couldn’t do away with them, there were too many. She put down the tin of herrings with the opener and looked contentedly at the table. She called:
“Father, breakfast is ready.”