“Well, you might just give me five-eighths of a cup,” said Burnell, leaning across the table. “Have another chop, Beryl. Tip-top meat, isn’t it? Not too lean and not too fat.” He turned to his wife. “You’re sure you won’t change your mind, Linda darling?” “The very thought of it is enough.” She raised one eyebrow in the way she had. The grandmother brought the children bread and milk and they sat up to table, flushed and sleepy behind the wavy steam. “I had meat for my supper,” said Isabel, still combing gently. “I had a whole chop for my supper, the bone and all and Worcester sauce. Didn’t I, father?” “Oh, don’t boast, Isabel,” said Aunt Beryl. Isabel looked astounded. “I wasn’t boasting, was I, Mummy? I never thought of boasting. I thought they would like to know. I only meant to tell them.” “Very well. That’s enough,” said Burnell. He pushed back his plate, took a tooth-pick out of his pocket and began picking his strong white teeth. “You might see that Fred has a bite of something in the kitchen before he goes, will you, mother?” “Yes, Stanley.” The old woman turned to go. “Oh, hold on half a jiffy. I suppose nobody knows where my slippers were put? I suppose I shall not be able to get at them for a month or two—what?” “Yes,” came from Linda. “In the top of the canvas hold-all marked ‘urgent necessities.’” “Well you might get them for me will you, mother?” “Yes, Stanley.” Burnell got up, stretched himself, and going over to the fire he turned his back to it and lifted up his coat tails. “By Jove, this is a pretty pickle. Eh, Beryl?” Beryl, sipping tea, her elbows on the table, smiled over the cup at him. She wore an unfamiliar pink pinafore; the sleeves of her blouse were rolled up to her shoulders showing her lovely freckled arms, and she had let her hair fall down her back in a long pig-tail. “How long do you think it will take to get straight—couple of weeks—eh?” he chaffed. “Good heavens, no,” said Beryl airily. “The worst is over already. The servant girl and I have simply slaved all day, and ever since mother came she has worked like a horse, too. We have never sat down for a moment. We have had a day.” Stanley scented a rebuke. “Well, I suppose you did not expect me to rush away from the office and nail carpets—did you?” “Certainly not,” laughed Beryl. She put down her cup and ran out of the dining-room. “What the hell does she expect us to do?” asked Stanley. “Sit down and fan herself with a palm leaf fan while I have a gang of professionals to do the job? By Jove, if she can’t do a hand’s turn occasionally without shouting about it in return for . . .” And he gloomed as the chops began to fight the tea in his sensitive stomach. But Linda put up a hand and dragged him down to the side of her long chair.