"You think I don't want them?"
She closed the cupboard door abruptly. The kitchen was so small that when she turned they had to stand close to one another to avoid falling back into the sink or burning themselves against the gas jet. He saw that the fine colour had gone out of her face. She looked unfamiliarly tired.
"I think you want them terribly. I suppose I'm not heroic. I don't like your saying 'No' always—always."
"I shall get what I really want in the end."
She sighed, reflected, and then laughed rather ruefully.
"Oh, well, get the cups now, at any rate."
"There are only three, Francey."
"You and I will have to share, then."
So she made him happy—just as she had done when they had been children—with a sudden comradely gesture.
But in the next room Mr. Ricardo had begun to talk again. They had to hear him. He was not crying any more. His voice sounded hard and embittered.