* * * * *

Elly had been staring at her mother’s face for a moment, and now said, “Mother, what makes you look so awfully serious?”

Marise said ruefully, “It’s pretty hard to explain to a little girl.  I was wondering whether I was as good a mother to you as I ought to be.”

Elly was astonished to the limit of astonishment at this idea.  “Why, Mother, how could you be any better than you are?” She threw herself on her mother’s neck, crying, “Mother, I wish you never looked serious.  I wish you were always laughing and cutting up, the way you used to.  Seems to me since the war is over, you’re more soberer than you were before, even, when you were so worried about Father in France.  I’d rather you’d scold me than look serious.”

Paul came around the table, and shouldered his way against Elly up to a place where he touched his mother.  “Is that masculine jealousy, or real affection?” she asked herself, and then, “Oh, what a beast!  To be analyzing my own children!” And then, “But how am I ever going to know what they’re like if I don’t analyze them?”

The dog, seeing the children standing up, half ready to go out, began barking and frisking, and wriggling his way to where they stood all intertwined, stood up with his fore-paws against Paul.  The kitten had been startled by his approach and ran rapidly up Marise as though she had been a tree, pausing on her shoulder to paw at a loosened hair-pin.

Marise let herself go on this wave of eager young life, and thrust down into the dark all the razor-edged questions.  “Oh, children! children! take the kitten off my back!” she said, laughing and squirming.  “She’s tickling me with her whiskers.  Oh, ow!” She was reduced to helpless mirth, stooping her head, reaching up futilely for the kitten, who had retreated to the nape of her neck and was pricking sharp little pin-pointed claws through to the skin.  The children danced about chiming out peals of laughter.  The dog barked excitedly, standing on his hind-legs, and pawing first at one and then at another.  Then Paul looked at the clock, and they all looked at the clock.  The children, flushed with fun, crammed on their caps, thrust their arms into coats, bestowed indiscriminate kisses on their mother and the kitten, and vanished for the morning, followed by the dog, pleading with little whines to be taken along too.  The kitten got down and began soberly to wash her face.

* * * * *

There was an instant of appalling silence in the house, the silence that is like no other, the silence that comes when the children have just gone.  Through it, heavy-footed and ruthless, Marise felt something advancing on her, something which she dreaded and would not look at.

From above came a sweet, high, little call, “Mo-o-o-ther!” Oh, a respite—­Mark was awake!

His mother sprang upstairs to snatch at him as he lay, rosy and smiling and sleepy.  She bent over him intoxicated by his beauty, by the flower-perfection of his skin, by the softness of his sleep-washed eyes.