Nell said "yes" with weary dutifulness.
The silence fell again. He rubbed his brow, and recognised the uselessness of worrying them with such palpably unreal cheerfulness. All his castles in Spain were, for the time being, razed to the ground. With the O'Briens there was no possibility of a story or two tumbling; the whole edifice had to tower to the skies or fall flat to the ground. The omnibus drew up outside No. 35, Henley Road. They got out, and stood a moment—a forlorn little group—looking at the tall, narrow house, with, to their eyes, such an unhappy air of being wedged in too tightly between the two neighbouring houses.
"Run in and knock, while I pay up," Denis admonished them.
They trailed slowly up the flight of steps. Nell knocked. There was a pause; then they heard a step approaching the door. With a sudden spasmodic burst of awakened conscience and courage Nell drew herself erect and tried to achieve a smile.
The rattle of bars and chains that heralded the opening of the door was hideous to their unaccustomed ears; it shocked them with its clang of inhospitality—its suggestion of suspicion.
Miss Kezia opened the door a cautious inch or two and peered out. Her face appeared to them, against the light, very long and very black.
"It's you," she said; "come in."
Nell faltered, calling together all her stock of politeness, "I'm sorry that you had to sit up for us."
Miss Kezia waved it aside with a curt response that a little loss of sleep would not hurt her.
There was porridge waiting for them in the dining room. Too wretched, too apathetic to make the necessary stand against it, they sat down to the table and tried to eat.