'If the supper is ready I will have it,' replied her daughter.

'Well, it's not ready.' The mother shut tight her sunken mouth, and
regarded her daughter with playful challenge. 'Because,' she continued,
'I didn't known when you were coming.' She gave a jerk with her arm,
like an orator who utters the incontrovertible. 'But,' she added, after
a tedious dramatic pause, 'I can soon have it ready. What will
you have?' 'The full list of your capacious larder,' replied Helena.

Mrs Verden looked at her again, and hesitated.

'Will you have cocoa or lemonade?' she asked, coming to the point
curtly.

'Lemonade,' said Helena.

Presently Mr Verden entered--a small, white-bearded man with a gentle
voice.

'Oh, so you are back, Nellie!' he said, in his quiet, reserved manner.

'As you see, Pater,' she answered.

'H'm!' he murmured, and he moved about at his accounts.

Neither of her parents dared to question Helena. They moved about her on
tiptoe, stealthily. Yet neither subserved her. Her father's quiet 'H'm!'
her mother's curt question, made her draw inwards like a snail which can
never retreat far enough from condemning eyes. She made a careless
pretence of eating. She was like a child which has done wrong, and will
not be punished, but will be left with the humiliating smear of
offence upon it.

There was a quick, light palpitating of the knocker. Mrs Verden went to
the door.