Mamma's eyes blinked. Her forehead was pinched with vexation. Her foot tapped on the floor.
Mark's eyes kept up their puzzled stare.
"What's been happening?" he said. "What's the matter? Everywhere I go there's a mystery. There was a mystery at Ilford. About Dan. And about poor Charlotte. I come down here and there's a mystery about some people called Sutcliffe. And a mystery about Mary." He laughed again. "Minky seems to be in disgrace, as if she'd done something…. It's awfully queer. Mamma's the only person something hasn't happened to."
"I should have thought everything had happened to me," said Mamma.
"That makes it queerer."
Mamma went up with Mark into his room. Papa's room. You could hear her feet going up and down in it, and the squeaking wail of the wardrobe door as she opened and shut it.
She waited, listening. When she heard her mother come downstairs she went to him.
Mark didn't know that the room had been Papa's room. He didn't know that she shivered when she saw him sitting on the bed. She had stood just there where Mark's feet were and watched Papa die. She could feel the basin slipping, slipping from the edge of the bed.
Mark wasn't happy. There was something he missed, something he wanted. She had meant to say, "It's all right. Nothing's happened. I haven't done anything," but she couldn't think about it when she saw him sitting there.
"Mark—what is it?"