Edith ate little, but gazed nearly all the time at her plate.  She never once looked at Sibyl, though Sibyl now and then gave her a quick glance, heavily charged, and then looked away.  Roscoe ate nothing, and, like Edith, kept his eyes upon his plate and made believe to occupy himself with the viands thereon, loading his fork frequently, but not lifting it to his mouth.  He did not once look at his father, though his father gazed heavily at him most of the time.  And between Edith and Sibyl, and between Roscoe and his father, some bitter wireless communication seemed continually to be taking place throughout the long silences prevailing during this enlivening ceremony of Sabbath refection.

“Didn’t you go to church this morning, Bibbs?” his mother asked, in the effort to break up one of those ghastly intervals.

“What did you say, mother?”

“Didn’t you go to church this morning?”

“I think so,” he answered, as from a roseate trance.

“You think so!  Don’t you know?”

“Oh yes.  Yes, I went to church!”

“Which one?”

“Just down the street.  It’s brick.”

“What was the sermon about?”

“What, mother?”

“Can’t you hear me?” she cried.  “I asked you what the sermon was about?”

He roused himself.  “I think it was about—­” He frowned, seeming to concentrate his will to recollect.  “I think it was about something in the Bible.”

White-jacket George was glad of an opportunity to leave the room and lean upon Mist’ Jackson’s shoulder in the pantry.  “He don’t know they was any suhmon!” he concluded, having narrated the dining-room dialogue.  “All he know is he was with ‘at lady lives nex’ do’!” George was right.

“Did you go to church all by yourself, Bibbs?” Sibyl asked.

“No,” he answered.  “No, I didn’t go alone.”

“Oh?” Sibyl gave the ejaculation an upward twist, as of mocking inquiry, and followed it by another, expressive of hilarious comprehension.  “Oh!”

Bibbs looked at her studiously, but she spoke no further.  And that completed the conversation at the lugubrious feast.

Coffee came finally, was disposed of quickly, and the party dispersed to other parts of the house.  Bibbs followed his father and Roscoe into the library, but was not well received.

“You go and listen to the phonograph with the women-folks,” Sheridan commanded.

Bibbs retreated.  “Sometimes you do seem to be a hard sort of man!” he said.

However, he went obediently to the gilt-and-brocade room in which his mother and his sister and his sister-in-law had helplessly withdrawn, according to their Sabbatical custom.  Edith sat in a corner, tapping her feet together and looking at them; Sibyl sat in the center of the room, examining a brooch which she had detached from her throat; and Mrs. Sheridan was looking over a collection of records consisting exclusively of Caruso and rag-time.  She selected one of the latter, remarking that she thought it “right pretty,” and followed it with one of the former and the same remark.