Virginia returned no answer to this comment, but withdrew to the kitchen, where Tony sat munching his fried bread and bacon and drinking his coffee with a schoolboy's appetite. When he had been despatched, clean and ready for his day's work, there was Pansy's breakfast to be thought of. Dainty toast, fresh tea, a spoonful of jam, were arranged on a pretty tray and carried upstairs. Then Virginia was at leisure to sit down for a few minutes, drink what was left of the coffee in Tony's pot, and eat some bread-and-butter. In truth she had little appetite. The heat sapped her strength, and she reflected sadly that it was a mistake to go away. A holiday made it harder to begin again. From the moment of finishing her breakfast till the moment of laying lunch, she never ceased from her labours. The kitchen had to be thoroughly scrubbed before its dainty mistress could be friends with it again. Then there were beds to make, a room to sweep, three rooms to dust. Then her mother came down, drank a cup of Bovril, and settled herself in the garden with some embroidery, while Virginia went up to make her bed and do her room. When lunch had been cleared and washed up, the drudge had an hour's breathing space. She spent it lying upon the bed in Pansy's room, the little cripple having been moved as usual to her invalid couch by the window. Virginia was so tired that she herself felt alarmed. What was to become of them all if her health were to give way? The thought was too horrible to be dwelt upon. Her mother, remarking the depression of her spirits, was vexed. She could not help wishing that Virginia were not quite such a simpleton. If she had had an ounce of the coquette in her, she could have secured Gerald Rosenberg, and all would have been well. Mrs. Mynors had refrained from any kind of hint when the girl went to London in response to Miriam's urgent invitation. She thought her hint might defeat itself. Now she was wondering whether, in view of her daughter's obtuseness, she would not have done well to let her know what was expected of her. She could see that the girl was out of heart, and she shrank, partly from cowardice, partly from affection, from dealing the final blow. Yes, her utter selfishness notwithstanding, Mrs. Mynors had some affection for Virginia. She misunderstood the girl, and undervalued her; she accepted all her burnt offerings and sacrifices as manifestly her own due; yet she trusted and leaned upon her with all the weight of her own empty egotism. Next morning, when the little figure in its blue overall brought in the tea, there was a business-like letter lying upon the tray. Mrs. Mynors did not open it until she had enjoyed her tea, for it was from the solicitors who had foreclosed the mortgage, and well she knew that it was not likely to contain anything that would please her.