Hughs? Why do
you live with a brute like that?"
Martin frowned.
"Any particular row," he said, "or only just the ordinary?"
Mrs. Hughs turned her face to the scanty fire. Her shoulders heaved
spasmodically.
Thus passed three minutes, then she again began rubbing the soapy
garment.
"If you don't mind, I'll smoke," said Martin. "What's your baby's name?
Bill? Here, Bill!" He placed his little finger in the baby's hand.
"Feeding him yourself?"
"Yes, sir."
"What's his number?"
"I've lost three, sir; there's only his brother Stanley now."
"One a year?"
"No, Sir. I missed two years in the war, of course."
"Hughs wounded out there?"
"Yes, sir--in the head."
"Ah! And fever?"
"Yes, Sir."
Martin tapped his pipe against his forehead. "Least drop of liquor goes
to it, I suppose?"
Mrs. Hughs paused in the dipping of a cloth; her tear-stained face
expressed resentment, as though she had detected an attempt to find
excuses for her husband.
"He didn't ought to treat me as he does," she said.
All three now stood round the bed, over which the baby presided with
solemn gaze.
Thyme said: "I wouldn't care what he did, Mrs. Hughs; I wouldn't stay
another day if I were you. It's your duty as a woman."
To hear her duty as a woman Mrs. Hughs turned; slow vindictiveness
gathered on her thin face.
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