Milly, her face blotched with nervousness, attempted to spear the cold and stiffening bacon; it jumped off her fork on to the cloth as though possessed of a malicious life energy. Colonel Ogden's eyes bulged with irritation, and he thumped the table. "Upon my word, Mary, the children have the table manners of Hottentots." Now by all the laws of the Medes and Persians, Mrs. Ogden, on this Day of Days, should have remained calm and disdainful. But to-day had begun badly. There had been that little cloud which had grown and grown until it became the household books; it was over her now, enveloping her. She could not see through it, she could not collect her forces. "We Routledges!" It didn't ring true, it was like a blast blown on a cracked trumpet. She prayed fervently for self-control, but she knew that she prayed in vain. Her throat ached, she was going fast, slipping through her own fingers with surprising rapidity. Colonel Ogden began again: "Well, upon my----" "Don't, don't!" shrieked Mrs. Ogden hysterically. "Don't say it again, James. I can't bear it!" "Well, upon my word----" "There! You've said it! Oh, Oh, Oh!" She suddenly covered her face with her table napkin and burst into loud sobs. Colonel Ogden was speechless. Then he turned a little pale, his heart thumped. "Mary, for heaven's sake!" "I can't help it, James! I can't, I can't!" "But, Mary, my dear!" "Don't touch me, leave me alone!" "Oh, all right; but I say, Mary, don't do this!" "I wish I were dead!" "Mary!" "Yes I do, I wish I were dead and out of it all!" "Nonsense--rubbish!" "You'll be sorry when I am dead!" He stretched out a plump hand and laid it on her shoulder. "Go away, James!" "Oh, all right! Joan, look after your mother, she don't seem well." He left the room, and they heard the front door bang after him. Mrs. Ogden looked over the table napkin. "Has he gone, Joan?" "Yes, Mother. Oh, you poor darling!" They clung together. Mrs. Ogden dried her eyes; then she poured out some coffee and drank it. "I'm better now, dear." She smiled cheerfully. And she was better. As she rose from the table the dark cloud lifted, she saw clearly once more; saw the Routledge banner streaming in the breeze. "And now for those tiresome books," she said almost gaily. She went away to the drawing-room and Joan collapsed; she felt sick, scenes always upset her. She thought: "I wish I could hide my head in a table napkin and cry like Mother did." Then she thought: "I wonder how Mother manages it. I wouldn't have cried, I'd have hit him!" She could not eat. In the drawing-room she heard her mother humming, yes, actually humming over the books! "That's all right," thought Joan, "they must be nice and cheap this week, that's a comfort anyhow." Presently Mrs. Ogden looked into the dining-room. "Joan!" "Yes, Mother?" "No lessons to-day, dear." "No, Mother." "Come and help me to place the wreath."