“And so the next year Mr. Redpath married again—quite a young woman. I never saw her, but Nelly Hickling knew her quite well. She always said that she reminded her of Clara Foster. You know, Harriet, the younger one with the dark hair and pretty eyes.” But Philip had looked across at Katherine, her eyes had met his, and very faintly, as it were secretly, she smiled: the whirl of that encounter had hidden Aunt Betty’s voice from him. He did not know that he was interrupting her. “It was a good walk, and it’s raining like anything. The sea was coming in over the Cove like thunder.” No one answered him, and he realised suddenly that all the food was cold. No matter: he was used to Sunday supper by this time, and he was of a ferocious hunger. “Lots of beef, please,” he said, with a laugh. Aunt Aggie shuddered. Her tooth was in her eye and her toes at the same moment; Annie had forgotten to call her, there had been no eggs for breakfast, Katherine at luncheon had been unsympathetic, at tea, before strangers (or nearly strangers), Henry had laughed at her, at supper there had been no soup, Betty, who in the morning had been idiotic enough to think Mr. Smart’s sermon a good one, in the evening had been idiotic enough to commence one of her interminable stories, the day had as usual been dreary and heavy and slow, and now that terrible young man, whom she had always hated, must come in, late and dripping, without even washing his hands, makes no apologies, demands food as though he were a butcher, smiles upon everyone with perfect complacency, is not apparently in the least aware of other people’s feelings—this horrible young man, who had already made everyone about him miserable and cross and restless: no, deeply though Aunt Aggie had always disliked Philip, she had never really hated him until this evening. Although he was sitting next to her, he could not possibly have been more unconscious of her.... “You are interrupting my sister,” she said. He started and flushed. “Oh! I beg your pardon,” he stammered. “No, please, it’s nothing,” said Aunt Betty. “You were saying something about Mr. Williams, Betty dear,” said Mrs. Trenchard. “No, please, it’s nothing,” said Aunt Betty. There was silence after that. Philip waited, and then, feeling that something must be done, said: “Well, Henry, I wish you’d been out with me. You’d have loved it. Why didn’t you come?” “I’m sure he was better at church,” said Aunt Aggie. Her tooth said to her: “Go for him! Go for him! Go for him!” Philip realised then her hostility. His face hardened. What a tiresome old woman she was, always cross and restless and wanting attention! He kept silent. That annoyed her: he seemed so big and overbearing when he sat so close to her. “And I don’t know,” she went on, “whether you are really the best companion for Henry.” Everyone looked up then at the bitterness in Aunt Aggie’s voice; no one heard Mrs. Trenchard say: “Do have some tart, Henry.”