“I knowed I felt silk at my ankles,” he said.

But the night dress was slit almost in two.

“Never mind!” she said. “It belongs here, really. I’ll leave it.”

“Ay, leave it, I can put it between my legs at night, for company. There’s no name nor mark on it, is there?”

She slipped on the torn thing, and sat dreamily looking out of the window. The window was open, the air of morning drifted in, and the sound of birds. Birds flew continuously past. Then she saw Flossie roaming out. It was morning.

Downstairs she heard him making the fire, pumping water, going out at the back door. By and by came the smell of bacon, and at length he came upstairs with a huge black tray that would only just go through the door. He set the tray on the bed, and poured out the tea. Connie squatted in her torn night dress, and fell on her food hungrily. He sat on the one chair, with his plate on his knees.