The child looked, wondering and resentful, at her sister. Vera was taking the things from the table, snatching them, and thrusting them on the tray. Gwen’s eyes rested a moment or two on the bent head of her father; then deliberately she turned again to her mother, and repeated in her softest and most persuasive tones:
“Mam, I saw a dog, and it ran in a butcher’s shop and licked a piece of meat. Mam, mam!”
There was no answer. Gwen went forward and put her hand on her mother’s knee.
“Mam!” she pleaded timidly.
No response.
“Mam!” she whispered.
She was desperate. She stood on tiptoe, and pulled with little hands at her mother’s breast.
“Mam!” she whispered shrilly.
Her mother, with an effort of self-denial, put off her investment of tragedy, and, laying her arm round the child’s shoulders, drew her close. Gwen was somewhat reassured, but not satisfied. With an earnest face upturned to the impassive countenance of her mother, she began to whisper, sibilant, coaxing, pleading:
“Mam, there was a lady, she had a dog——”
Vera turned sharply to stop this whispering, which was too much for her nerves, but the mother forestalled her. Taking the child in her arms, she averted her face, put her cheek against the baby cheek, and let the tears run freely. Gwen was too much distressed to cry. The tears gathered very slowly in her eyes, and fell without her having moved a muscle in her face. Vera remained in the scullery, weeping tears
