"I suppose," Mary said, "it would make her think she's deader."
"We can't help that. We've got to be naughty some time."
"We mustn't begin," Mary said. "If we begin we shall have to finish."
They were good for four days, from ten to twelve. And at a quarter past twelve on the fifth day Mamma found Mary crying in the dining-room.
"Oh, Mary, have you been naughty?"
"No; but I shall be to-morrow. I've been so good that I can't keep on any longer."
Mamma took her in her lap. She lowered her head to you, holding it straight and still, ready to pounce if you said the wrong thing.
"Being good when it pleases you isn't being good," she said. "It's not what Jesus means by being good. God wants us to be good all the time, like Jesus."
"But—Jesus and me is different. He wasn't able to be naughty. And I'm not able to be good. Not all the time."
"You're not able to be good of your own will and in your own strength.
You're not good till God makes you good."
"Did God make me naughty?"
"No. God couldn't make anybody naughty."
"Not if he tried hard?"
"No. But," said Mamma, speaking very fast, "he'll make you good if you ask him."
"Will he make me good if I don't ask him?"
"No," said Mamma.
II.
Miss Thompson—
She was always sure you would be good. And Mamma was sure you wouldn't be, or that if you were it would be for some bad reason like being sorry for Miss Thompson.
As long as Roddy was in the room Mary was sorry for Miss Thompson. And when she was left alone with her she was frightened. The squeezing and dragging under her waist began when Miss Thompson pushed her gentle, mournful face close up to see what she was doing.
She was afraid of Miss Thompson because her mother was dead.
She kept on thinking about Miss Thompson's mother. Miss Thompson's mother would be like Jenny in bed with her cap off; and she would be like the dead field mouse that Roddy found in the lane. She would lie on the bed with her back bent and her head hanging loose like the dear little field mouse; and her legs would be turned up over her stomach like his, toes and fingers clawing together. When you touched her she would be cold and stiff, like the field mouse. They had wrapped her up in a white sheet. Roddy said dead people were always wrapped up in white sheets. And Mr. Chapman had put her into a coffin like the one he was making when he gave Dank the wood for the rabbit's house.
Every time Miss Thompson came near her she saw the white sheet and smelt the sharp, bitter smell of the coffin.
If she was naughty Miss Thompson (who seemed to have forgotten) would remember that her mother was dead. It might happen any minute.
It never did. For Miss Thompson said you were good if you knew your lessons; and at the same time you were not naughty if you didn't know them. You might not know them to-day; but you would know them to-morrow or the next day.
By midsummer Mary could read the books that Dank read. If it had not been for Mr. Sippett and "Mensa: a table," she would have known as much as Roddy.
Almost before they had time to be naughty Miss Thompson had gone. Mamma said that Roddy was not getting on fast enough.
V
I.
The book that Aunt Bella had brought her was called The Triumph Over Midian, and Aunt Bella said that if she was a good girl it would interest her. But it did not interest her. That was how she heard Aunt Bella and Mamma talking together.
Mamma's foot was tapping on the footstool, which showed that she was annoyed.
"They're coming to-morrow," she said, "to look at that house at
Ilford."
"To live?" Aunt Bella said.
"To live," Mamma said.
"And is Emilius going to allow it? What's Victor thinking of, bringing her down here?"
"They want to be near Emilius. They think he'll look after her."
"It was Victor who would have her at home, and Victor might look after her himself. She was his favourite sister."
"He doesn't want to be too responsible. They think Emilius ought to take his share."
Aunt Bella whispered something. And Mamma said, "Stuff and nonsense! No more than you or I. Only you never know what queer thing she'll do next."
Aunt Bella said, "She was always queer as long as I remember her."
Mamma's foot went tap, tap again.
"She's been sending away things worse than ever. Dolls. Those naked ones."
Aunt Bella gave herself a shake and said something that sounded like
"Goo-oo-sh!" And then, "Going to be married?"
Mamma said, "Going to be married."
And Aunt Bella said "T-t-t."
They were talking about Aunt Charlotte.
Mamma went on: "She's packed off all her clothes. Her new ones. Sent them to Matilda. Thinks she won't have to wear them any more."
"You mustn't expect me to have Charlotte Olivier in my house," Aunt
Bella said. "If anybody came to call it would be most unpleasant."
"I wouldn't mind," Mamma said, tap-tapping, "if it was only Charlotte.
But there's Lavvy and her Opinions."
Aunt Bella said "Pfoo-oof!" and waved her hands as if she were clearing the air.
"All I can say is," Mamma said, "that if Lavvy Olivier brings her
Opinions into this house Emilius and I will walk out of it."
To-morrow—they were coming to-morrow, Uncle Victor and Aunt Lavvy and
Aunt Charlotte.
II.
They were coming to lunch, and everybody was excited.
Mark and Dank were in their trousers and Eton jackets, and Roddy in his new black velvet suit. The drawing-room was dressed out in its green summer chintzes that shone and crackled with glaze. Mamma had moved the big Chinese bowl from the cabinet to the round mahogany table and filled it with white roses. You could see them again in the polish; blurred white faces swimming on the dark, wine-coloured pool. You held out your face to be washed in the clear, cool scent of the white roses.
When Mark opened the door a smell of roast chicken came up the kitchen stairs.
It was like Sunday, except that you were excited.
"Look at Papa," Roddy whispered. "Papa's excited."
Papa had come home early from the office. He stood by the fireplace in the long tight frock-coat that made him look enormous. He had twirled back his moustache to show his rich red mouth. He had put something on his beard that smelt sweet. You noticed for the first time how the frizzed, red-brown mass sprang from a peak of silky golden hair under his