Yes, it was as she had expected, a fierce heat had been generated there since she had last used the oven, and through to the stone floor below had fallen a mass of black, gluey soot.
Mrs.Bunting took the ham and eggs that she had bought the previous day for her own and Bunting's breakfast upstairs, and broiled them over the gas-ring in their sitting-room.

Her husband watched her in surprised silence.

She had never done such a thing before.
"I couldn't stay down there," she said; "it was so cold and foggy.
I thought I'd make breakfast up here, just for to-day." "Yes," he said kindly; "that's quite right, Ellen.

I think you've done quite right, my dear." But, when it came to the point, his wife could not eat any of the nice breakfast she had got ready; she only had another cup of tea.
"I'm afraid you're ill, Ellen ?" Bunting asked solicitously.
"No," she said shortly; "I'm not ill at all.

Don't be silly! The thought of that horrible thing happening so close by has upset me, and put me off my food.