It was
curious to see anything so happy in the tense gloom of that household.
Edith ate little, but gazed nearly all the time at her plate. She
never once looked at Sibyl, though Sibyl now and then gave her a quick
glance, heavily charged, and then looked away. Roscoe ate nothing,
and, like Edith, kept his eyes upon his plate and made believe to
occupy himself with the viands thereon, loading his fork frequently,
but not lifting it to his mouth. He did not once look at his father,
though his father gazed heavily at him most of the time. And between
Edith and Sibyl, and between Roscoe and his father, some bitter
wireless communication seemed continually to be taking place
throughout the long silences prevailing during this enlivening
ceremony of Sabbath refection.
"Didn't you go to church this morning, Bibbs?" his mother asked,
in the effort to break up one of those ghastly intervals.
"What did you say, mother?"
"Didn't you go to church this morning?"
"I think so," he answered, as from a roseate trance.
"You THINK so! Don't you know?"
"Oh yes. Yes, I went to church!"
"Which one?"
"Just down the street. It's brick."
"What was the sermon about?"
"What, mother?"
"Can't you hear me?" she cried.
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