CHAPTER VII
Michael had lit the lamp in Rouminof's kitchen; innumerable tiny-winged insects, moths, mosquitoes, midges, and golden-winged flying ants hung in a cloud about it. Martha M'Cready, Pony-Fence Inglewood, and George Woods were there talking to Paul and Michael when Sophie went into the kitchen.
"Here she is," Paul said.
Martha rose from her place on the sofa and trundled cross to her.
"Dearie!" she cried, as George and Pony-Fence called:
"H'llo, Sophie!"
And Sophie said: "Hullo, George! Hullo, Pony-Fence!"
Martha's embrace cut short what else she may have had to say. Sophie warmed to her as she had when she was a child. Martha had been so plump and soft to rub against, and a sensation of sheer animal comfort and rejoicing ran through Sophie as she felt herself against Martha again. The slight briny smell of her skin was sweet to her with associations of so many old loving and impulsive hugs, so much loving kindness.
"Oh, Mother M'Cready," she cried, a more joyous note in her voice than Michael had yet heard, "it is nice to see you again!"
"Lord, lovey," Martha replied, disengaging her arms, "and they'd got me that scared of you—saying what a toff you were. I thought you'd be tellin' me my place if I tried this sort of thing. But when I saw you a minute ago, I clean forgot all about it. I saw you were just my own little Sophie back again ... and I couldn't 've helped throwing me arms round you—not for the life of me."