Nevertheless, she was sometimes conscious of an undercurrent of foreboding.

Something was lacking.

Had the gods, giving so much, withheld the two best gifts of all--Success and Happiness?
While Penelope mused in the firelight, the clatter of china issuing from the kitchen premises indicated unusual domestic activity on Nan's part, and finally culminated in her entry into the sitting-room, bearing a laden tea-tray.
"Hot scones!" she announced joyfully.

"I've made a burnt offering of myself, toasting them." Penelope smiled.
"What an infant you are, Nan," she returned.

"I sometimes wonder if you'll ever grow up ?" "I hope not"-- with great promptitude.