Not
a sound from the small saucepan, balanced on its tripod over the
wavering blue flame of the spirit-lamp! At last, uncontrollably
impatient, she lifted the teapot off the inverted lid of the saucepan,
where she had placed it to warm, and peered into the saucepan. The
water was cheerfully boiling! She made the tea, and sat down again to
wait until it should be infused. She had to judge the minutes as well
as she could, for she would not go across to the night-table to look
at Louis' watch; her own was out of order, and so was the clock. She
counted two hundred and fifty, and then, anticipating feverishly
the tonic glow of the tea in her breast, she poured out a cup. Only
colourless steaming water came forth from the pot. She had forgotten
to put in the tea! Misfortune not unfamiliar to dazed makers of tea in
the night! But to Rachel now the consequences of the omission seemed
to amount to a tragedy. Had she the courage to begin the interminable
weary process afresh? She was bound to begin it afresh. With her
eyes obscured by tears, she put the water back into the saucepan and
searched for the match-box. The water boiled almost immediately, and
by so doing comforted her.
While waiting for the infusion, she realized little by little that for
a few moments she must have been nearly hysterical, and she partially
resumed possession of herself.
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