“Well, you won’t have to weary your soul restraining me from thumping anything, so it will be a change to come and talk to me. We’ll turn the tables, and I’ll try and restrain you from thumping the universe too hard.” “It would be much more to the point if we thumped together: I, because I’m not wanted, and it’s an insult to foist me on to mankind whether I like it or not; and you, because… well, because you are a strong man cursed with helplessness.” “Very well, if you come in that particular mood, we’ll just play football with the bally old universe, so to speak. The main point to me is, that we take a rise out of the powers that be, by being a source of entertainment occasionally to each other. As our alphabetical significance in the general scheme is next door to each other, we may as well get what we can out of the circumstance.” She turned aside, looking half humorous and half satirical. “It sounds well enough as you say it, but I expect the powers are sneering diabolically at us both. However, if you’ll let me try to be some sort of company, I’ll come across again soon—” A latch-key was heard in the door, and a moment later Doris entered. When she saw the two women she looked taken aback, and stammered something about not knowing the time. “When I got in Basil’s fire was out, and he was perished with cold,” Ethel said coldly; “and as I had to go to Miss... Miss -” “Call it G,” put in the music-teacher, with a comical twist of her mouth. “—for brandy, she came over and lit the fire for me.” “I couldn’t help not knowing the time,” Doris murmured in a low, grumbling voice, and went away to take her hat off. The music-teacher glanced from one to the other, as if about to say something, but changed her mind and moved towards the door. On the threshold she looked back, and said in her short, dry way: “If F wants anything of G, G will be ready to come instantly.” “Thank you,” Basil and Ethel replied together, the former adding, “And don’t forget to put your head in at the door occasionally, by way of a reminder.” Ethel said no more to Doris, because she felt it useless, but her silence as they prepared the evening meal together signified her disapproval. She was deeply worried about Basil’s failing strength, and longed to speak of it to someone who could understand; but felt such selfish forgetfulness as Doris showed shut her out from any sympathetic discussion. Then Dudley came, and while Doris looked woebegone and sad, Ethel’s face was a little stern with stress and anxiety. Basil tried valiantly to be cheerful enough for all three, but the effort cost him almost more strength than he could muster. After Dudley had gone, carrying with him the image of Doris’s plaintive prettiness and pathetic solitariness, and thinking gladly of the pleasure it would be to take her to Marlow on Sunday, Ethel slipped on her knees beside Basil’s couch, overcome for a moment by the burden of his suffering, and the difficulties of their lives.