Selected Stories Read Free Page A

to give way to it—that was what was needed. It was this tension that was all wrong. To live—to live! And the perfect morning, so fresh and fair, basking in the light, as though laughing at its own beauty, seemed to whisper, “Why not?”
    But now he was out of the water Jonathan turned blue with cold. He ached all over; it was as though someone was wringing the blood out of him. And stalking up the beach, shivering, all his muscles tight, he too felt his bathe was spoilt. He’d stayed in too long.
III
    Beryl was alone in the living-room when Stanley appeared, wearing a blue serge suit, a stiff collar and a spotted tie. He looked almost uncannily clean and brushed; he was going to town for the day. Dropping into his chair, he pulled out his watch and put it beside his plate.
    â€œI’ve just got twenty-five minutes,” he said. “You might go and see if the porridge is ready, Beryl?”
    â€œMother’s just gone for it,” said Beryl. She sat down at the table and poured out his tea.
    â€œThanks!” Stanley took a sip. “Hallo!” he said in an astonished voice, “you’ve forgotten the sugar.”
    â€œOh, sorry!” But even then Beryl didn’t help him; she pushed the basin across. What did this mean? As Stanley helped himself his blue eyes widened; they seemed to quiver. He shot a quick glance at his sister-in-law and leaned back.
    â€œNothing wrong, is there?” he asked carelessly, fingering his collar.
    Beryl’s head was bent; she turned her plate in her fingers.
    â€œNothing,” said her light voice. Then she too looked up, and smiled at Stanley. “Why should there be?”
    â€œO-oh! No reason at all as far as I know. I thought you seemed rather—”
    At that moment the door opened and the three little girls appeared, each carrying a porridge plate. They were dressed alike in blue jerseys and knickers; their brown legs were bare, and each had her hair plaited and pinned up in what was called a horse’s tail. Behind them came Mrs. Fairfield with the tray.
    â€œCarefully, children,” she warned. But they were taking the very greatest care. They loved being allowed to carry things. “Have you said good-morning to your father?”
    â€œYes, grandma.” They settled themselves on the bench opposite Stanley and Beryl.
    â€œGood morning, Stanley!” Old Mrs. Fairfield gave him his plate.
    â€œMorning, mother! How’s the boy?”
    â€œSplendid! He only woke up once last night. What a perfect morning!” The old woman paused, her hand on the loaf of bread, to gaze out of the open door into the garden. The sea sounded. Through the wide-open window streamed the sun on to the yellow varnished walls and bare floor. Everything on the table flashed and glittered. In the middle there was an old salad bowl filled with yellow and red nasturtiums. She smiled, and a look of deep content shone in her eyes.
    â€œYou might cut me a slice of that bread, mother,” said Stanley. “I’ve only twelve and a half minutes before the coach passes. Has anyone given my shoes to the servant girl?”
    â€œYes, they’re ready for you.” Mrs. Fairfield was quite unruffled.
    â€œOh, Kezia! Why are you such a messy child!” cried Beryl despairingly.
    â€œMe, Aunt Beryl?” Kezia stared at her. What had she done now? She had only dug a river down the middle of her porridge, filled it, and was eating the banks away. But she did that every single morning, and no one had said a word up till now.
    â€œWhy can’t you eat your food properly like Isabel and Lottie?” How unfair grown-ups are!
    â€œBut Lottie always makes a floating island, don’t you, Lottie?”
    â€œI don’t,” said Isabel smartly. “I just sprinkle mine with sugar and put on the milk and finish it. Only babies play with their food.”
    Stanley pushed back his chair and got up.
    â€œWould