between her and Mark. It made itself small again for Mark and Mamma.
Across the white space she heard him saying things: about Dan meeting him
at Tilbury, and poor Victor coming to Liverpool Street, and Cox's. Last
night he had stayed at Ilford, he had seen Bella and Edward and Pidgeon
and Mrs. Fisher and the Proparts. "Do you remember poor Edward and his
sheep? And Mary's lamb!"

Mark hadn't changed, except that he was firmer and squarer, and thinner,
because he had had fever. And his eyes--He was staring at her with his
disappointed eyes.

She called to him. "You don't know me a bit, Mark."

He laughed. "I thought I'd see somebody grown up. Victor said Mary was
dreadfully mature. What did he mean?"

Mamma said she was sure she didn't know.

"What do you do with yourself all day, Minky?"

"Nothing much. Read--work--play tennis with Mr. Sutcliffe."

"Mr.--Sutcliffe?"

"Never mind Mr. Sutcliffe. Mark doesn't want to hear about him."

"Is there a _Mrs._ Sutcliffe?"

"Yes."