Nell eyed the little heavy black mass that on ordinary days was Kate Kearney, and savagely harked back with, "I don’t think a lodger’s landlady’s belongings should worry him at all times of the day!" She blushed and dabbed angrily at her canvas. Sheila Pat paused, and thought. Intolerable, biting irritation possessed Nell. The room cramped her unbearably; painting drove her mad; everyone worried her; sick anger at it all goaded her. "Sheila Pat, go and fetch your Pearl at once, and bring him straight back here!" Sheila Pat eyed her interestedly. "Eileen O’Brien, you got out of your bed the wrong side this morning!" she observed, and walked from the room. Molly looked at Nell commiseratingly. "_I_ know," she said, "we never have these horrid yellow fogs at—" Nell stopped the word before it left her lips, with a wildly impatient:— "Oh, _be_ quiet!" "I only meant—" "I know you did! Go on with your history." "But—" Nell looked at her. "If you say another word, Molly O’Brien, I shall yell!" Denis came in. He looked at her with her hair pushed up and laughed. "Golliwog, what’s happened to your hair?" She looked away from him, fighting a weak inclination to go to him and cry. "Nothing," she said. "Painting in this light! Why, Nell, you must be crazy!" "I daresay I am. I’m sick of never being able to paint—" "But a dense fog!" "It’s always dense fog in London." "Headache?" he queried. "It’s my temper that aches, I think." She put down her palette, and gave a little laugh. "Head, too?" he persisted. "That I should have to own to such a thing! A little." "It’s boiled mutton for lunch; Sarah just told me so. I’ll go and tell Aunt Kezia you must have something else. What would you like? Chicken? Sole?" She laughed helplessly. "Denis, I see her face! No—really—" She stopped him. "I couldn’t touch either. I’m not hungry. I’ll have some pudding." "It’s rice puddin’," put in Sheila Pat, her words annotated by protesting squeaks. The Pearl objected to being taken from his cage. Nell, feeling momentarily more sane, declared valiantly that rice pudding would do nicely. Aunt Kezia was sorry that boiled mutton did not meet with her approval, so she said. The Atom was the first to answer her. "Approval, is it? And would you be approvalin’ it with a headache, Aunt Kezia?" It was a Saturday. Denis had suggested Madam Tussaud’s for the afternoon. Now he declared he didn’t think Nell was fit to come with them. She did not feel fit herself, but she wouldn’t own it. She was very prickly, and somehow he rubbed her the wrong way,—"Oh, very well, if they’d rather go without her!" Up flared one of those quick Irish outbursts. Nell found herself alone. She sang loudly, listening intently for the shutting of the front door.