Upon the table, near the window, the big Bible caught her eye. She stared at it, thinking of the page upon which, soon, she might be called upon to make three entries—two deaths and one birth. Heavy antimacassars embellished the horsehair-covered sofa and the armchairs. Mrs. Yellam rose up, snatched three antimacassars from their abiding-place and covered the Bible with them. Then she sat down again, looking about her, glaring at the familiar objects, so eloquent of the past. Upon each side of a large mirror, with its gilt frame protected by muslin from flies that had never dared to enter the room, hung two enlarged photographs of herself and her husband, taken some five-and-twenty years ago. They seemed to stare unblushingly and aggressively at her, as if they were rude strangers overbrimming with self-importance, smug with prosperity.
"Fools," said Mrs. Yellam, scornfully.
She looked at the other photographs, each in turn, portraits of the children who lay in the churchyard.
"You be the lucky ones," she said, in the same derisive tone.
There were many photographs of Alfred in all stages of development: Alfred sucking his thumb with an expression upon his year-old countenance as if he were thinking regretfully of something more nourishing; Alfred in a much be-ribanded frock; Alfred in knickerbockers; Alfred in a kilt; Alfred in trowsers, evidently on good terms with himself and all the world; Alfred as he appeared in his Sunday best, about to take the air with an audacious parlourmaid; and, lastly, Alfred in khaki and Fancy, arm in crook.
She glanced hastily at other photographs, of Sir Geoffrey and Lady Pomfret and Master Lionel. They smiled so pleasantly that she frowned. How dared they smile?
She was not needed yet upstairs. So she sat on in the gate of her sorrows, alone in the valley of Achor.
She heard Solomon scratching at the door. She had left him asleep in his basket, always placed each night by the kitchen hearth. Mrs. Yellam let the dog scratch, but when he began whining she let him in, because Fancy might be disturbed, not because she wanted her dog.
Solomon looked at her, and knew.
He governed himself accordingly. Mrs. Yellam had returned to her chair. Solomon lay down at her feet. When she wanted to talk to him, she would do so. He kept one ear cocked for the first word.