The indifferent tone continued now, although she said:  “Think of the horrible things that have been done to me, think of the horrible things I’ve seen!  Oh, you’re right, of course.  Unhappy people are dangerous.  They clutch at the happy people round them and drag them down into the vortex of their misery.  But if you’re going to hate anybody for doing that, hate me.  Look how I’ve dominated you with my misfortunes, look how I’ve eaten up your life by making you feel it a duty to compensate me for what I’ve endured.  Hate me.  But don’t hate Poppy.  Oh, that poor, simple creature.  Even now, after all that’s happened, she’d be pleased like a child if you took her to a fair where there were merry-go-rounds.  Oh, don’t hate her.  And don’t hate Roger.”  Wildness flashed through her like lightning through a dense dark cloud.  “Don’t hate him, Richard!  Take your mind off both of us.  We’re all right.  I can manage everything quite well.  I’m hard.  I haven’t got all those fine feelings you think I have.  I’m quite hard.  I can arrange everything beautifully.  Roger’s happy in the Hallelujah Army.  He’s gone to Jesus for the love I ought to have given him.  I know they’re thinking of turning him out.  But I’ll see to it that they keep him.  I’ll pretend to have leanings towards their religion, and I’ll give them money from time to time so that they won’t dare get rid of him.  It will be rather amusing squaring them.  I shall enjoy it.  We will be all right.  Leave us alone.  Don’t think of us.  Think of Ellen.  Think of Ellen.  How you hold back from your happiness!” she cried gibingly.  “I tell you, if I had had your chance of happiness when I was young, neither my mother nor my father would have held me back from it!”

It was as if her soul had leapt, naked and raging, from out of her mouth when she said that.  Ellen stirred among the cushions, feeling unformulated shame.  She wondered how Richard could endure hearing that hoarse vehemence from the lips of one whom he must wish to be gentle and unpassionate.  But he was gazing at his mother trancedly and with slight movements of his hands and feet, as if she were dancing and he desired to join her in her spinning rhythm; and she, mad, changeable woman, shivered and pressed her fingers against her mouth to silence herself, and looked down on her skirt, drawling lazily:  “Well, here I am, standing about in my outdoor clothes.  If there’s anything I hate, it’s wearing outdoor clothes in the house.  However, it’ll save me changing, and I’ve none too much time if I’m going to be punctual for Roger’s meeting.”

She moved towards the door.  He followed softly, as her shadow, and held it open.

When he made to follow her out of the room she turned sharply.  “You needn’t come.”

“I promised Roger,” he said falsely.

“What nonsense!” she blazed.  “I’ll tell him you had to stay here with Ellen.”

She banged the door on him.  He stood staring at its panels, which were rosy with firelight, and Ellen closed her eyes for weariness.  After some seconds she heard his tread and felt him bend over her.  “Ellen,” he mumbled, “I must go with mother.  That fool will be too awful on the platform.  I must see her through.”