"I saw her yesterday, and she'd got a longer skirt on, but it didn't hide them. I can't bear to see her; I think she must be so unhappy. What would you do if you had legs like that?" "Dance and dance and dance," said Grace, jumping up in the bed and making the springs creak. "But you couldn't." "Yes I could. I could dance if I hadn't any legs at all." "That's stupid. And don't make such a noise. Mother's in bed." "Then why did you leave the door open and talk so loud?" "I didn't talk loud. I've got a little voice. I can never hear myself singing at prayers in school, though I try till I get that horrid aching in my ears. So I don't bother very much now, and I just move my mouth. I tried in the glass, and it looks the same. Oh, I wish we'd had breakfast, and it was ten o'clock. I think I'll go and have it." In the kitchen Bessie was moving from table to cupboard in that dark groping way of hers. "I've been more than five minutes," said Theresa. "Well, I couldn't get the fire to burn. What a grate! Here, Miss Terry, finish laying for me while I stir the porridge. And your father will be back hungry, I daresay, and your mother wanting her tray! That's her bell. Just run up and see what she wants." Theresa met her mother on the landing going to the bath. Her fair waving hair was piled confusedly on the top of her head; she wore a long blue dressing-gown, which was the colour of her eyes, and over her shoulder she had flung a towel. Theresa thought she looked very lovely, and she clasped her hands in her quick movement of joy. "Oh," she said, "are you better?" and tiptoed to be kissed. "So this is a kissing morning, is it?" said Nancy, with her little tilting smile. Theresa nodded. "When you look like that! Did you want anything?" "Only to tell Bessie I'll have breakfast with Father when he comes. It wouldn't do to be in bed when he arrived. We won't tell him I wasn't well, Terry, or he'll never want to go away again." "He doesn't anyhow," she said. "But I won't tell." "Mother's up," she shouted to Bessie as she went jumping down the stairs. "Let's have breakfast. Oh, Grace, you have been quick. You can't have done your hair properly." "I did, then." "Brushed your teeth?" "Miss Terry, you're very uppish this morning. Just mind your own business, and eat what's put before you. If you were as perticler as Miss Grace----" "Oh, Bessie, the porridge is burnt! Oh, how hateful!" "It's not very bad," said Grace soothingly. "If you think of something nice you'll hardly taste it." "D'you think I'm going to eat it? I hate the stuff anyway; nasty, drab-coloured mess! It makes me think of what pigs have to eat." "Miss Theresa, for shame! If your mother would get me a new saucepan, a double one--but I think you're likely to have burnt porridge every morning. _I_ haven't time to stand over the pot stirring." "And it smells! Take it away--take it away! And I'm hungry. And the tablecloth's so dirty." "It's Saturday."