ould scarcely get home."

He looked closely at his mother. She looked ill.

"WHY could you scarcely get home?" he asked her, still sharply. She
would not answer.

"I found her as white as a sheet sitting here," said Annie, with a
suggestion of tears in her voice.

"Well, WHY?" insisted Paul. His brows were knitting, his eyes dilating
passionately.

"It was enough to upset anybody," said Mrs. Morel, "hugging those
parcels--meat, and green-groceries, and a pair of curtains--"

"Well, why DID you hug them; you needn't have done."

"Then who would?"

"Let Annie fetch the meat."

"Yes, and I WOULD fetch the meat, but how was I to know. You were off
with Miriam, instead of being in when my mother came."

"And what was the matter with you?" asked Paul of his mother.

"I suppose it's my heart," she replied. Certainly she looked bluish
round the mouth.

"And have you felt it before?"

"Yes--often enough."

"Then why haven't you told me?--and why haven't you seen a doctor?"

Mrs. Morel shifted in her chair, angry with him for his hectoring.

"You'd never notice anything," said Annie. "You're too eager to be off
with Miriam."

"Oh, am I--and any worse than you with Leonard?"

"I was in at a quarter to ten."

There was silence in the room for a time.

"I should have thought," said Mrs. Morel bitterly, "that she wouldn't
have occupied you so entirely as to burn a whole ovenful of bread."

"Beatrice was here as well as she."

"Very likely. But we know why the bread is spoilt."

"Why?" he flashed.

"Because you were engrossed with Miriam," replied Mrs. Morel hotly.

"Oh, very well--then it was NOT!" he replied angrily.

He was distressed and wretched. Seizing a paper, he began to read.
Annie, her blouse unfastened, her long ropes of hair twisted into a
plait, went up to bed, bidding him a very curt good-night.

Paul sat pretending to read. He knew his mother wanted to upbraid him.
He also wanted to know what had made her ill, for he was troubled. So,
instead of running away to bed, as he would have liked to do, he sat and
waited. There was a tense silence. The clock ticked loudly.

"You'd better go to bed before your father comes in," said the mother
harshly. "And if you're going to have anything to eat, you'd better get
it."

"I don't want anything."

It was his mother's custom to bring him some trifle for supper on Friday
night, the night of luxury for the colliers. He was too angry to go and