After the refreshments a gradual exodus began. Edith glanced anxiously at her watch — it was almost six, and John had not arrived. She wanted him to see Ede with the other children — to see how dignified and polite and intelligent she was, and how the only ice-cream spot on her dress was some that had dropped from her chin when she was joggled from behind.
‘You’re a darling,’ she whispered to her child, drawing her suddenly against her knee. ‘Do you know you’re a darling? Do you know you’re a darling?’
Ede laughed. ‘Bow-wow,’ she said suddenly.
‘Bow-wow?’ Edith looked around. ‘There isn’t any bow-wow.’
‘Bow-wow,’ repeated Ede. ‘I want a bow-wow.’
Edith followed the small pointing finger.
‘That isn’t a bow-wow, dearest, that’s a teddy-bear.’
‘Bear?’
‘Yes, that’s a teddy-bear, and it belongs to Billy Markey. You don’t want Billy Markey’s teddy-bear, do you?’
Ede did want it.
She broke away from her mother and approached Billy Markey, who held the toy closely in his arms. Ede stood regarding him with inscrutable eyes, and Billy laughed.
Grown-up Edith looked at her watch again, this time impatiently.
The party had dwindled until, besides Ede and Billy, there were only two babies remaining — and one of the two remained only by virtue of having hidden himself under the dining-room table. It was selfish of John not to come. It showed so little pride in the child. Other fathers had come, half a dozen of them, to call for their wives, and they had stayed for a while and looked on.
There was a sudden wail. Ede had obtained Billy’s teddy-bear by pulling it forcibly from his arms, and on Billy’s attempt to recover it, she had pushed him casually to the floor.