Mr Fowles? Lean or fat? The fat sometimes melts
in yer mouth. Give 'im that bit yer cut for me, William."

"If 'e don't like it, 'e can leave it," growled Partridge.

"Now, that'll do, William. I always said yer bark was worse than yer
bite. You'll be all right w'en yer've 'ad yer beer. 'E's got the
temper of an angel w'en 'e's 'ad 'is beer," she explained to Chook, as
if her husband were out of hearing.

Partridge sat with his eyes fixed on his plate with the face of a sulky
schoolboy. His long features reminded Chook of a horse he had once
driven. When he had finished eating, he pulled his chair back and
buried his silly, obstinate face in the newspaper. He had evidently
determined to ignore Chook's existence. Mrs Partridge broke the
silence by describing his character to the visitor as if he were a
naughty child.

"William always sulks w'en 'e can't get 'is own way. Not another word
will we 'ear from 'im tonight. 'E knows 'e ought to be civil to people
as eat at 'is own table, an' that only makes 'im worse. But for all
'is sulks, 'e's got the temper of an angel w'en 'e's 'ad 'is beer.
I've met all sorts--them as smashes the furniture for spite, an' them
as bashes their wives 'cause it's cheaper, but gimme William every
time."

Partridge took no notice, except to bury his nose deeper in the paper.
He had reached the advertisements, and a careful study of these would
carry him safely to bed. After tea, Pinkey set to work and washed up
the dishes, while Mrs Partridge entertained the guest. Chook took out
his cigarettes, and asked if Mr Partridge objected to smoke. There was
no answer.

"You must speak louder, Mr Fowles," said Mrs Partridge. "William's
'earing ain't wot it used to be."

William resented this remark by twisting his chair farther away and
emitting a grunt.

Pinkey, conscious of Chook's eyes, was bustling in and out with the
airs of a busy housewife, her arms, thin as a broomstick, bared to the
elbow. His other love-affairs had belonged to the open-air, with the
street for a stage and the park for scenery, and this domestic setting
struck Chook as a novelty. Pinkey, then, was not merely a plaything
for an hour, but a woman of serious uses, like the old mother who
suckled him and would hear no ill word of him. And as he watched with
greedy eyes the animal died within him, and a sweeter emotion than he
had ever known filled his ignorant, passionate heart For the first time
in his