THE RETURN
"Of course I know it wasn't taken yesterday, Lydia. I don't need telling, But I'm a lot younger than Mr. Tottenham to look at. There was a gentleman at the Hydro took us for father and daughter, really he did!"
Her voice was by turns peremptory, confidential, almost appealing. It died out into silence.
The room was restive and disturbed. "Oh, you unhappy house," thought Lydia. "They have broken into your silence and given you nothing in return."
"Tea will be ready, I think," she reminded. Mrs. Tottenham turned sharply from the glass, and Lydia saw with amazement that she had reddened her lips. They shone with sticky brightness in her sallow face.
Mrs. Tottenham was conscious of her glance. "Shows rather, doesn't it?" she queried diffidently, and rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand till the red was smeared out over her cheeks.
"One looks so washy after a journey. Just a touch of colour—one wouldn't notice it, hardly, if it wasn't for the glare." Her
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