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crossed, and the doorstep was as white as that of Hilda’s home and the metal-work on the front door as gleaming. Clumps of yellow chrysanthemums stood in the narrow beds on either side of the path and the lawns were neatly mown. Beyond the house could be seen flat fields and elm trees with houses here and there; this was a main road leading straight to Northampton, and provided an excellent example of ribbon development.
    She rang the bell, and in a moment her mother opened the door.
    ‘I thought it would be you, dear,’ she said, and gave her daughter a pecking kiss. ‘Come in and shut the door; the damp makes the oilcloth look so dull, and I’ve only done it this morning. Well, I hope you’ve found somewhere nice for us; you didn’t say much in your letter. Better go up and put your things away; tea’s just on ready. Reg will be here any time after five; he’s got forty-eight hours again. It’s nice having him, of course, but I do wish they’d give you longer notice. I’ve just sent his eiderdown to be cleaned, and Mrs Burrows and I were going to do his room to-morrow. But it can’t be helped. Margaret! You’ve dropped this.’
    Margaret came down the stairs again to take the glove her mother was holding out.
    ‘I can’t say your holiday seems to have done you much good; you look half asleep,’ said Mrs Steggles, glancing at her sharply and discontentedly. ‘Sitting up half the night talking with Hilda, I suppose. Well, hurry up and get washed; I want my tea, and I want to hear all about the house. How we’re going to get everything packed up and ready in three weeks I don’t know. Still, it’s got to be done, so I suppose it will be. Don’t leave the bathroom untidy, dear, it was only done this morning.’
    Margaret went upstairs, and Mrs Steggles hurried into the dining-room, where a little electric fire was burning on one bar, and tea was laid. The room was decorated in light, cold colours, and the furniture, made of pale wood in angular shapes, gave an impression of flimsiness and sparseness. Every object, from the frilled curtains to the yellow tea-cosy, was exquisitely clean. A faint odour of furniture polish and freshly made tea hung in the air. Mrs Steggles sat down at the head of the table and stared out of the window, waiting for her daughter. The worried look faded from her face as she gazed, and it was possible to see that she had once been unusually pretty, though now her complexion was marred by the settled reddish hue of middle age and her abundant dark hair was waved stiffly and unbecomingly against her head. Her teeth were not her own and her figure was spare and taut. Deep lines of worry ran down on either side of her mouth and across her forehead. Her large brown eyes were suspicious, and, when she sat quietly as she was doing now, very sad. Her full mouth, that was like Margaret’s, was ill-tempered and her voice edgy. Rage, rather than mere irritability, lurked in that voice and mouth. She wore a pale satin blouse with elaborate embroidery at the neck, and a dark skirt; and although her hands were worn with housework some attempt had been made to preserve their softness.
    Margaret came in, pushing back her hair from her forehead. She had tiny ears, fine dark eyebrows, and good ankles; all minor beauties and not in themselves enough to make a woman attractive.
    ‘I expect you want your tea,’ said Mrs Steggles, beginning to pour out. ‘Was the train very crowded? I had a letter from Mrs Miller this morning; she said they had a terrible journey down; they had to stand all the way, and Ella was sick. I’m sure I hope it won’t be like that when we go. Well, now, about the house. It’s near Hilda, you say?’
    ‘Yes, in the next road but one. It’s almost the same kind of house. There’s a hill at the back ofit –’
    ‘Oh dear, I hope we shan’t be very overlooked!’
    ‘It’s all hills round there, so we shall have to get used to it. Hilda said I was to tell you the