It will have to be pretty grand news indeed that Nancy has to make up for this last week and the buzz of the electric fan, thinks Oliver, twisting from one side of his stuffy berth to the other like an uneasy sardine. XIV “More beans, Oliver,” says Mrs. Ellicott in a voice like thin syrup, her “generous” voice. The generous voice is used whenever Mrs. Ellicott wants to show herself a person of incredibly scrupulous fairness before that bodiless assemblage of old women in black that constitute the They who Say--and so it is used to Oliver nearly all the time. “No thank you, Mrs. Ellicott.” Oliver manages to look at her politely enough as he speaks but then his eyes go straight back to Nancy and stay there as if they wished to be considered permanent attachments. All Oliver has been able to realize for the last two hours is the mere declarative fact that she is _there_. “Nancy!” “No, thanks, mother.” And Nancy in her turn looks once swiftly at her mother, sitting there at the end of the table like a faded grey sparrow whose feathers make it uncomfortable. It isn't feathers, though, really--its only Oliver. Why can't mother get reconciled to Oliver--why _can't_ she--and if she can't, why doesn't she come out and say so instead of trying to be generous to Oliver when she doesn't want to while he's there and then saying mean things when he's away because she can't help it? “Stanley?” “Why, no, my dear--no--yes, a few, perhaps--I might reconsider--only a few, my dear,”--his voice does not do anything as definite as cease--it merely becomes ineffectual as Mrs. Ellicott heaps his plate. He then looks at the beans as if he hadn't the slightest idea where they came from but supposes as long as they are there they must be got away with somehow, and starts putting them into his mouth as mechanically as if they were pennies and he a slot-machine. It is hot in the Ellicotts' dining-room--the butter was only brought in a little while ago, but already it is yellow mush. There are little drops on the backs of Mr. Ellicott's hands. Oliver wants to help Nancy take away the dishes and bring in the fruit--they have started to make a game out of it already when Mrs. Ellicott's voice enforces order. “No, Oliver. No, please. Please sit still. It is so seldom we have a _guest_ that Nancy and I are apt to forget our _manners_--” Oliver looks to Nancy for guidance, receives it and subsides into his chair. That's just the trouble, he thinks rather peevishly--if only Mrs. Ellicott would stop acting as if he were a guest--and not exactly a guest by choice at that but one who must be the more scrupulously entertained in public, the less he is liked in private.