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We’ve had twelve children and nine of them are alive. I tell
her it’s about time she stopped, but she’s an obstinate wom-
an, she’s got into the habit of it now, and I don’t believe she’ll
be satisfied till she’s had twenty.’
At that moment Sally came in with the beer, and, hav-
ing poured out a glass for Philip, went to the other side of
the table to pour some out for her father. He put his hand
round her waist.
‘Did you ever see such a handsome, strapping girl? Only
fifteen and she might be twenty. Look at her cheeks. She’s
never had a day’s illness in her life. It’ll be a lucky man who
marries her, won’t it, Sally?’
Sally listened to all this with a slight, slow smile, not
much embarrassed, for she was accustomed to her father’s
outbursts, but with an easy modesty which was very attrac-
tive.
‘Don’t let your dinner get cold, father,’ she said, drawing
herself away from his arm. ‘You’ll call when you’re ready for
your pudding, won’t you?’
They were left alone, and Athelny lifted the pewter tan-
kard to his lips. He drank long and deep.
‘My word, is there anything better than English beer?’ he
said. ‘Let us thank God for simple pleasures, roast beef and
rice pudding, a good appetite and beer. I was married to a
lady once. My God! Don’t marry a lady, my boy.’
Philip laughed. He was exhilarated by the scene, the fun-
ny little man in his odd clothes, the panelled room and the
Spanish furniture, the English fare: the whole thing had an
exquisite incongruity.

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