"Now I tell you what would be nice," said Maggie, also by this time breathless, "and that's a lamp. This gas isn't very pleasant, is it, and it DOES make such a noise."
"It DOES make a noise," said Emily, looking at the gas as though she were seeing it for the first time.
"Well, do you think there's a lamp somewhere?"
Emily licked her finger.
"I'll ask the missus," she said and disappeared. Soon she returned with a lamp, its glories hidden beneath a bright pink paper shade.
Maggie removed the paper shade, placed the lamp on the table, then the blue plates, the blue cups and saucers, the blue teapot.
A shrill voice was heard calling for Emily. Maggie had then her kingdom to herself.
She stood there, waiting and listening. The approaching interview must have seemed to her the climax of her whole life. She stood, clasping and unclasping her hands, going to the table, moving the plates, then moving them back again. Perhaps he would not return at all that night, perhaps not until midnight or later. He might be drunk, he might be violent. She did not care. It was enough for her that he should be there.
"Oh I do wish he'd come," she whispered aloud.
She had looked at her watch and seen that it was just eight o'clock when she heard a step on the stair. She had already borrowed from Emily a frying-pan. Quickly she put the sausages into it, placed them on the fire and then stood over them.