rupulously clean. It hangs on her with a freedom which,
taken with her brown legs and bare feet, suggests no great stock of
underclothing.

Suddenly there comes a tapping at the door, not loud enough to wake the
sleepers. Then knocking, which disturbs Mrs. Dudgeon a little. Finally
the latch is tried, whereupon she springs up at once.

MRS. DUDGEON (threateningly). Well, why don't you open the door? (She
sees that the girl is asleep and immediately raises a clamor of
heartfelt vexation.) Well, dear, dear me! Now this is-- (shaking her)
wake up, wake up: do you hear?

THE GIRL (sitting up). What is it?

MRS. DUDGEON. Wake up; and be ashamed of yourself, you unfeeling sinful
girl, falling asleep like that, and your father hardly cold in his
grave.

THE GIRL (half asleep still). I didn't mean to. I dropped off--

MRS. DUDGEON (cutting her short). Oh yes, you've plenty of excuses, I
daresay. Dropped off! (Fiercely, as the knocking recommences.) Why
don't you get up and let your uncle in? after me waiting up all night
for him! (She pushes her rudely off the sofa.) There: I'll open the
door: much good you are to wait up. Go and mend that fire a bit.

The girl, cowed and wretched, goes to the fire and puts a log on. Mrs.
Dudgeon unbars the door and opens it, letting into the stuffy kitchen a
little of the freshness and a great deal of the chill of the dawn, also
her second son Christy, a fattish, stupid, fair-haired, round-faced man
of about 22, muffled in a plaid shawl and grey overcoat. He hurries,
shivering, to the fire, leaving Mrs. Dudgeon to shut the door.

CHRISTY (at the fire). F--f--f! but it is cold. (Seeing the girl, and
staring lumpishly at her.) Why, who are you?

THE GIRL (shyly). Essie.

MRS. DUDGEON. Oh you may well ask. (To Essie.) Go to your room, child,
and lie down since you haven't feeling enough to keep you awake. Your
history isn't fit for your own ears to hear.

ESSIE. I--

MRS. DUDGEON (peremptorily). Don't answer me, Miss; but show your
obedience by doing what I tell you. (Essie, almost in tears, crosses
the room to the door near the sofa.) And don't forget your prayers.
(Essie goes out.) She'd have gone to bed last night just as if nothing
had happened if I'd let her.

CHRISTY (phlegmatically). Well, she can't be expected to feel Uncle
Peter's death like one of the family.

MRS. DUDGEON. What are you talking about, child? Isn't she his
daughter--the punishment of his wickedness and