ave known it to take fifty-five minutes when it hasn't been stopped
by funerals," declared Mrs Perkins.

Mavis looked at the dust-cloak in surprise.

"I always thought it took a quarter of an hour at the outside,"
remarked Mavis.

"For my part, when I go to London, I'm afraid of the 'buses," said Mrs
Budd. "I always take the train to Willesden Junction. Florrie's house
is only five minutes from there."

Mrs Perkins frowned, coughed, and then violently changed the subject.
Mavis gave no heed to what she was saying. Her eyes were fixed on the
baby, which Mrs Budd had put in her arms.

Passionate regrets filled her mind, while a dull pain assailed her
heart. She held the baby with a tense grip as Mrs Perkins talked at
her, the while the mother kept one eye self-consciously upon her
offspring.

Baby that and baby this, she was saying, as Mavis continued to stare
with dry-eyed grief at the baby's pasty face. Then blind rage possessed
her.

"Why should this common brat, which, even at this early age, carried
his origin in his features, live, while my sweet boy is beneath the
ground in Pennington Churchyard?" she asked herself.

It was cruel, unjust. Mavis's rage was such that she was within
measurable distance of dashing the baby to the ground. Perhaps the
dust-cloak's maternal sensibilities scented danger, for, rather
abruptly, it got up to go, giving as an excuse that it must rest in
order to fulfil social engagements in Swanage. When Mrs Budd, her
daughter and grandson, had gone, Mavis still sat in her chair. Her
hands grasped its arms; her eyes stared before her. If, at any time,
Harold's personality had caused her hatred of his family to wane, the
sight of Mrs Perkins's baby was sufficient to restore its vigour.

Then it occurred to Mavis how her love for Perigal, which she had
thought to be as stable as the universe, had unconsciously withered
within her. It was as if there had been an immense reaction from her
one-time implicit faith in her lover, making her despise, where once
she had had unbounded confidence. This awakening to the declension that
had taken place in her love gave her many anxious hours.

For some days Mavis saw nothing of Harold. She walked on the sweep of
sea front and in the streets of the little town in the hope of meeting
him, but in vain. She wondered if he had gone home, but persuaded
herself that he would not have left Swanage without letting her know.

Mavis was not a little irke