“I didn’t wake myself. I didn’t go to sleep till morning, and then I slept.”
She went downstairs. Siegmund listened for his son to get out of bed. The minutes passed.
“The young donkey, why doesn’t he get out?” said Siegmund angrily to himself. He turned over, pressing himself upon the bed in anger and humiliation, because now he had no authority to call to his son and keep him to his duty. Siegmund waited, writhing with anger, shame, and anxiety. When the suave, velvety “Pan-n-n! pan-n-n-n!” of the clock was heard striking, Frank stepped with a thud on to the floor. He could be heard dressing in clumsy haste. Beatrice called from the bottom of the stairs:
“Do you want any hot water?”
“You know there isn’t time for me to shave now,” answered her son, lifting his voice to a kind of broken falsetto.
The scent of the cooking of bacon filled the house. Siegmund heard his second daughter, Marjory, aged nine, talking to Vera, who occupied the same room with her. The child was evidently questioning, and the elder girl answered briefly. There was a lull in the household noises, broken suddenly by Marjory, shouting from the top of the stairs:
“Mam!” She waited. “Mam!” Still Beatrice did not hear her. “Mam! Mamma!” Beatrice was in the scullery. “Mamma-a!” The child was getting impatient. She lifted her voice and shouted: “Mam? Mamma!” Still no answer. “Mam-mee-e!” she squealed.
Siegmund could hardly contain himself.
