On the morning after Grizel Beverley's reception the Mallison quartette was assembled at breakfast in the stiff, sunless morning room. Mrs Mallison poured out coffee; Major Mallison sat facing her before the silver bacon dish, the morning light streaming in on his tired, discouraged face. Mary sat on the right, opposite the toast-rack and the egg-stand. Teresa on the left, by the marmalade and honey jar. The _Morning Post_ lay neatly folded on the sideboard. Mrs Mallison approved of sociability at meals; conversation helped digestion. When the Major declared that he loathed general conversation at breakfast, and would rather be left in peace than listen to the finest conversationalist alive, he was told that he was unamiable and selfish, and a burden of regret prophesied for him also "when he had _no_ one to talk to!" Mrs Mallison poured out four cups of coffee, made her usual lament _re_ the price of bacon, and cast a disapproving eye on Teresa's blue _crepe_ blouse. "I thought, my dear, that you were going to church this morning to decorate the chancel." "I am, Mother." "In that blouse?" "Certainly. Why not?" "Most unsuitable. Too light. A dark flannel is the right thing for the occasion. You will have time to change it before you start. Don't forget!" Teresa cast down her eyes and applied herself steadily to bacon. She had not the slightest intention of wearing a dark flannel blouse. The blue _crepe_ had been chosen, not for its durability, but that it might look pleasant in the eyes of Dane Peignton. All the mothers in the world could not have made Teresa change it; so what was the use of discussing the point! She gave the conversation an adroit little switch. "Don't wait lunch for me, Mother. I shall probably go to the Vicarage. We shall need all our time." "We are having fried steak. If you come at all, you must be punctual. If it's done too long, all the strength has gone. I could give you sandwiches to eat in the vestry. Or it might be stewed. If papa did not object, it could _quite_ well be stewed. He dislikes the onions. If we had carrots instead, would you object, papa? But, of course, there's the flavour. Carrots are _not_ so seasoning... Perhaps it had better be sandwiches. Mary, is there a glass of that chicken and ham paste? See if there's a glass, dear. Cook could make some nice fresh sandwiches." Mary moved automatically, but Teresa stopped her with a waving hand. "I loathe sandwiches. I shall go somewhere and have a proper lunch. Don't bother, Mother."