at that moment the tea came in; it was brought by a flushed and
contemptuous maid, who put the tray down on a little table with a bang,
tossed her head as though she despised them all, and slammed the door
behind her.

Miss Burnett was upset by this, and her nose twitched more violently than
ever. Joan saw that her hand trembled as she poured out the tea, and she
was at once sorry for her.

Mr. Morris talked about Kent and London, and tea was drunk and the saffron
cake praised, and Joan thought it was time to go. At the last, however,
she turned to Mr. Morris and said:

"Do you like the Cathedral?"

"It's wonderful," he answered. "You should see it from our window
upstairs."

"Oh, I hate it--" said Joan.

"Why?" Morris asked her.

There was a curious challenge in his voice. They were both standing facing
one another.

"I suppose that's a silly thing to say. Only you don't live as close to it
as we do, and you haven't lived here so long as we have. It seems to hang
right over you, and it never changes, and I hate to think it will go on
just the same, years after we're dead."