Agreatfireroared。Therewasascentofcookedpastry。Hewasdue，atseveno’clock，buthewouldbelate。Thethreechildrenhadgone，tomeethim。Shewasalone。ButataquartertosevenMorelcame，inagain。Neitherwifenorhusbandspoke。Hesatinhisarmchair，quiteawkwardwithexcitement，andshequietlywentonwithherbaking。
Onlybythecarefulwayinwhichshedidthingscoulditbetold，howmuchmovedshewas。Theclocktickedon。
“Whattimedostsayhe’scoming？”Morelaskedforthefifthtime。
“Thetraingetsinathalf-pastsix，“sherepliedemphatically。
“Thenhe’llbehereattenpastseven。”