always in her little pink and white
chintz drawing-room, a bright fire burning and a canary singing in a
cage beside the window. The rest of the house was ugly and strangely
uninhabited as though the Warlocks had merely pitched their tents for a
night and were moving forward to-morrow, but this little room, close,
smelling of musk and sweet biscuits (a silver box with lemon-shaped
biscuits in it stood on a little table near the old lady), with its
pretty pink curtains, its canary, and its heavy and softly closing
door, was like a place enclosed, dedicated to the world, and ruled by a
remorseless spirit of comfort.

Mrs. Warlock was only sixty years of age, but she had, a number of
years ago, declared herself an invalid, and now never, unless she drove
on a very fine afternoon, left the house. Whether she were truly an
invalid nobody knew; she presented certainly a most healthy appearance
with her shell-pink cheeks, her snow-white hair, her firm bosom rising
and falling with such gentle regularity beneath the tight and shining
black silk that covered it, her clear bright eyes like shining glass.
She always sat in a deep arm-chair covered with the chintz of the
curtains and filled with plump pillows of pink silk. A white filmy
shawl was spread over her knees, at her throat was a little bright
coquettish blue bow that added, amazingly, to the innocent charm of her
old age. On her white hair, crinkled and arranged as though it were
some ornament, not quite a wig but still apart from the rest of her
body, she wore a lace cap. She was fond of knitting; she made warm
woollen comforters and underclothing for the children of the poor. She
was immensely fond of conversation, being of an inquisitive nature. But
above all was she fond of eating. This covetousness of food had grown
on her as her years had increased. The thought of foods of various
kinds filled many hours of her day, and the desire for pleasant things
to eat was the motive of many of her most deliberate actions. She
cherished warmly and secretly this little lust of hers. None of the
family was aware of the grip that the desire had upon her nor of the
speed with which the desire was growing. She did not ask directly for
the things that she liked, but manoeuvred with little plots and
intrigues to obtain them. The cook in the Warlock household had neither
art nor science at her disposal, but as it happened old Mrs. Warlock
lusted after very simple things. She loved ric