'You _know_, mother? Why didn't you tell me?'

'I am telling you, dear. There's nothing to be in a taking about.
You've had no supper yet. A little preserve?'

Edward, in a sudden passion that startled her, threw the jam-dish
across the room. It made a red splash on the wall. Mrs. Marston stopped
chumbling her toast, and remained with the rotary motions of her mouth
in abeyance. Then she said slowly:

'Your poor father always said, dear, that you'd break out some day. And
you have. The best dish! Of course the jam I say little about; jam is
but jam, after all; but the cut-glass dish--!'

'Can't you go on with the tale, mother?'

'Yes, my dear, yes. But you fluster me like the Silverton Cheap-jack
does; I never _can_ buy the dish he holds up, for I get in such a
fluster for fear he'll break it, and then he does. And now you have.'

Edward pushed back his chair in desperation.

'For pity's sake!' he said.

'I'm telling you. I never thought Hazel was steadfast, you know.'

'Where _is_ she? Why will you torment me?'

'An old man came. A very untrustworthy old man, I fear. A defiant