Nevertheless, the grandeur of his interpretation of the Hallelujah Chorus appeared to produce no effect whatever in the scullery; neither alarm nor ecstasy!  And presently, in the midst of a brief pianissimo passage, James’s sensitive ear caught the distant sound of chopping, which quite marred the soft tenderness at which he had been aiming.  He stopped abruptly.  The sound of chopping intrigued his curiosity.  What could she be chopping?  He advanced cautiously to the doorway; he had left the door open.  The other door—­between the kitchen and the scullery—­which had previously been closed, was now open, so that he could see from the front room into the scullery.  His eager, inquisitive glance noted a plate of beautiful bread and butter on the tea-table in the kitchen.

She was chopping the kidney.  Utterly absorbed in her task, she had no suspicion that she was being overlooked.  After the chopping of the kidney, James witnessed a series of operations the key to whose significance he could not find.

She put a flat pan over the gas, and then took it off again.  Then she picked up an egg, broke it into a coffee-cup, and instantly poured it out of the coffee-cup into a basin.  She did the same to another egg, and yet another.  Four eggs!  The entire household stock of eggs!  It was terrible!  Four eggs and a kidney among two people!  He could not divine what she was at.

Then she got some butter on the end of a knife and dropped it into the saucepan, and put the saucepan over the gas; and then poured the plateful of kidney-shreds into the saucepan.  Then she began furiously to beat the four eggs with a fork, glancing into the saucepan frequently, and coaxing it with little touches.  Then the kidney-shreds raised a sound of frizzling, and bang into the saucepan went the contents of the basin.  All the time she had held her hands and her implements and utensils away from her as much as possible, doubtless out of consideration for her frock; not an inch of apron was she wearing.  Now she leant over the gas-stove, fork in hand, and made baffling motions inside the saucepan with the fork; and while doing so she stretched forth her left hand, obtained some salt, and sprinkled the saucepan therewith.  The business seemed to be exquisitely delicate and breathless.  Her face was sternly set, as though the fate of continents depended on her nerve and audacity in this tremendous crisis.  But what she was doing to the interior of the saucepan James Ollerenshaw could not comprehend.  She stroked it with a long gesture; she tickled it, she stroked it in a different direction; she lifted it and folded it on itself.

Anyhow, he knew it was not scrambled eggs, because you have to stir scrambled eggs without ceasing.

Then she stopped and stood quite still, regarding the saucepan.

“You’ve watched me quite long enough,” she said, without moving her head.  She must have known all the time that he was there.