He went into her room.
"Lot, Steyn is out."
"Out?"
"Yes, he went to his room first ... and then I heard him go quietly down the stairs; then he went out of the hall-door, quietly."
"He didn't want to wake you, Mummy."
"Ah, but where has he gone to?"
"For a walk. He often does. It's very hot and close."
"Gone for a walk, Lot, gone for a walk? No, he's gone ..."
She stood in front of him—he could see it by the candle-light—blazing with passion. Her little figure in the white night-dress was like that of a fury with the curly yellow hair, shot with grey, all shining; everything that was sweet in her seethed up into a raging temper, as though she were irritated to the utmost, and she felt an impulse suddenly to raise her hand and box Lot's ears with its small, quivering fingers for daring to defend Steyn. She controlled herself and controlled her wrath, but words of vulgar invective and burning reproach came foaming to her trembling lips.
"Come, Mummy, Mummy! Come!"