Mrs Days Daughters | Page 7

she longed to hear from his lips.
But Mr. Day had arrived home in a temper of mind the reverse of
encouraging. In gloomy silence he sat through the meal which families
of the upper middle classes then took instead of dinner at the dinner
hour. A comfortable, informal meal at which a big silver tea-tray and
great silver tea-urn and heavily embossed tea-services, took a
prominent part; where rolls and patties and huge hams and
much-decorated tongues were present; and hot toast and muffins and
many cakes. No servants waited; there was no centre-piece of flowers;
but the gas from the many branches of the great chandelier of
scintillating cut glass overhead shone on the silver and china and the
appetising viands to which the Days always did such ample justice in a
very agreeable way.
But to-night the master of the house, seated opposite his wife at her
tea-tray, ate nothing of the generous fare. He had a black look on his
heavy face, and short snarling replies for those who ventured to address
him. Such a mood was not altogether unusual with him; when it was
understood among them that something had gone wrong at the office
and that it was safest to leave him alone. But Bessie, whose
characteristic it was never, for a moment, under whatever stress of
circumstances, to forget her own individual interests, kept whispering
to her mother, by whose side she sat, urging her to ask of her father that
which she desired to know.
"Ask him, mama. Do ask him!"
"H'sh, my dear!" a frown and a cautioning glance in the direction of the
scowling face.
Bessie's foot upon her mother's beneath the table. "Mama, why are you
so silly? Ask him! Ask him!"
The mother was never for long proof against the entreaties or
commands of her offspring. "Have you seen anything of Reggie Forcus
to-day, William?" presently she asked.

The man at the other end of the table glared upon her for a moment
with angry eyes. "No!" he thundered. "But I have seen Francis Forcus,
which was quite enough for me."
A silence fell. Bessie's heart beat loudly, the colour left her face. Her
father turned to her as he said the last words. "Yes, papa?" she faltered.
"Your mother sent me to him on a fool's errand," he said. Then,
scowling upon daughter and wife, he gulped down a cup of tea, pushed
his chair noisily back and went from the room.
As the door closed behind him, Bessie burst into tears.
The boys and Deleah looked at her in consternation. "What's up now?"
they asked of each other with lifted eyebrows.
"Bessie, my dear child! You must not give way so. You really must
summon up a little pride," the mother chided.
"It's all very well for you!" Bessie retorted chokingly, and sobbed on.
She felt for her handkerchief, and having none of her own grabbed
without any thanks that which Deleah threw across the table. Deleah,
shocked at the spectacle, watched her sister. "Whatever happened I
would not cry before every one like that," she said to herself. Bernard,
the elder boy, who lived in a chronic state of quarrelling with Bessie,
openly giggled. Franky, having pulled his mother's face down to his
own, was whispering, "What is it, mama? What is the matter with
Bessie, now? Does she feel sick?" To feel sick was Franky's idea of the
greatest earthly misery.
Having wiped her eyes on Deleah's handkerchief Bessie rolled it into a
ball and flung it across the table, with greater force of will than
directness of aim, at Bernard's face. "You beast!" she choked. "Mama,
Bernard's laughing at me. Oughtn't Bernard to know how to behave
better? Because I'm so unhappy isn't a reason I should be laughed at."
Whereat they all laughed--Bessie was so ridiculous, they thought; and
Mrs. Day, putting out a kind hand to the angrily sobbing girl, led her

from the room. "You're all too bad," she said, looking back at the
sniggering group. "Bernard, you should know better."
"Bessie's such an old ass!" the boy excused himself. "I want some more
tea, mother. I won't have this her sopping handkerchief fell in. All her
beastly tears in my cup!"
"Deleah must pour it out for you," the mother said, and closed the door
behind herself and her daughter.
"I won't be called an ass by Bernard! I won't be made fun of by them
all!" Bessie cried. "You should go back, and punish them, mama."
Mrs. Day, murmuring words of soothing, led her to the foot of the stairs,
and watched the girl mounting slowly to her room, crying audibly,
childish fashion, as she went. "You must try to have more self-control,"
she said.
"But why did papa look