force her to see the light, do you?”
“The light, the light, the light, the light!” cried John suddenly with a convulsed face.
Aunt Elizabeth unconsciously started back a pace or two, dragging Persephone, whose waist she still held, back with her; for there was something about Percy's slender figure that provoked people to touch her and made it difficult to let her go.
But John's face smoothed itself out in a second and the humblest apologies flowed from him. “It's my French mischief coming out, Dave Spear,” he said. “It's all acquired cynicism. Really, I love to think that there are people with strong convictions, people who know they are right, like you and Cousin Philip.”
Philip's own voice broke into their talk at this moment. It had not failed to strike him that Aunt Elizabeth and the four young cousins, in their obvious indifiference to the grotesque event of forty thousand pounds passing from the Crow family to the Geard family, had succeeded in ostracising him in a sort of moral solitude. He and his wife might go on quarrelling with Mr. Didlington over this fiasco. The others were civilised people, prepared to take a mere financial blow with becoming urbanity!
“Don't lump me and Dave Spear together,” he interrupted, pushing his way between Aunt Elizabeth and Mary with jocular bluster. “Percy would never cook him another meal if she thought we had anything in common. To my pretty Perse I shall never be anything but a bloated capitalist, shall I?” And he also, just as Aunt Elizabeth had done, put his arm round the tall girl's slender waist.
“Cousin Tilly,” cried Dave Spear, with a schoolboy grin on his broad countenance, “come and stop Philip from flirting with my wife!”
But Mrs. Crow, who had just rung the bell and had had a long whispered conversation with the maid who answered it, was herself at that moment upbraiding Mr. Didlington in a plaintive but penetrating, voice. “She says that horrible man departed yesterday from Glastonbury. I suppose both of you knew that Grandfather had left him everything.” She paused, and then turning to her husband, “Tea's ready in the dining-room, Philip,” she said.
The lawyer made his way to the group in the centre of the room and allowed his answer to Tilly's shrewish attack to be a general professional reply to them all.
“It is true,” he said, “that Mr. Geard was aware, just as I was aware, of the late Canon's intentions; and as his family live in Glastonbury it was natural and indeed suitable that he should proceed there at once to acquaint them with this very considerable bequest.”
“Well, Didlington,” returned Philip, looking round at the company,*“! hope you will do my wife the pleasure of letting her pour out tea for you? Shall we go into the dining-room? Will you follow Mrs. Crow, Didlington?”
He opened the door and they all trooped out into the passage. Down this they moved, past the broad staircase where the walls were hung with some really valuable oil paintings selected by William Crow's great-uncle. Not far from this staircase was the front door, leading—through a pleasant conservatory—out into the courtyard. It was through this door rather than any other that Mr. Didlington now hastened to pass, picking up his hat from a marble table that offered itself conveniently to his attention.
“Have to get home, Crow. The wife expects me, you know, and it's quite a walk. If I stayed to tea with all you good folk I shouldn't be at Methwold till after dark.”
Philip had the wit to see that Tilly's tactless outburst had really upset the worthy man. What wild creatures women are! He followed the lawyer out into the conservatory which was fragrant with heliotrope and lemon verbena. “You must forgive Mrs. Crow, Didlington,” he said quietly. And then, as the man only nodded with a faint shrug of his shoulders, “The great point you've made clear,” he went on, “is that the family has no case against this
“The light, the light, the light, the light!” cried John suddenly with a convulsed face.
Aunt Elizabeth unconsciously started back a pace or two, dragging Persephone, whose waist she still held, back with her; for there was something about Percy's slender figure that provoked people to touch her and made it difficult to let her go.
But John's face smoothed itself out in a second and the humblest apologies flowed from him. “It's my French mischief coming out, Dave Spear,” he said. “It's all acquired cynicism. Really, I love to think that there are people with strong convictions, people who know they are right, like you and Cousin Philip.”
Philip's own voice broke into their talk at this moment. It had not failed to strike him that Aunt Elizabeth and the four young cousins, in their obvious indifiference to the grotesque event of forty thousand pounds passing from the Crow family to the Geard family, had succeeded in ostracising him in a sort of moral solitude. He and his wife might go on quarrelling with Mr. Didlington over this fiasco. The others were civilised people, prepared to take a mere financial blow with becoming urbanity!
“Don't lump me and Dave Spear together,” he interrupted, pushing his way between Aunt Elizabeth and Mary with jocular bluster. “Percy would never cook him another meal if she thought we had anything in common. To my pretty Perse I shall never be anything but a bloated capitalist, shall I?” And he also, just as Aunt Elizabeth had done, put his arm round the tall girl's slender waist.
“Cousin Tilly,” cried Dave Spear, with a schoolboy grin on his broad countenance, “come and stop Philip from flirting with my wife!”
But Mrs. Crow, who had just rung the bell and had had a long whispered conversation with the maid who answered it, was herself at that moment upbraiding Mr. Didlington in a plaintive but penetrating, voice. “She says that horrible man departed yesterday from Glastonbury. I suppose both of you knew that Grandfather had left him everything.” She paused, and then turning to her husband, “Tea's ready in the dining-room, Philip,” she said.
The lawyer made his way to the group in the centre of the room and allowed his answer to Tilly's shrewish attack to be a general professional reply to them all.
“It is true,” he said, “that Mr. Geard was aware, just as I was aware, of the late Canon's intentions; and as his family live in Glastonbury it was natural and indeed suitable that he should proceed there at once to acquaint them with this very considerable bequest.”
“Well, Didlington,” returned Philip, looking round at the company,*“! hope you will do my wife the pleasure of letting her pour out tea for you? Shall we go into the dining-room? Will you follow Mrs. Crow, Didlington?”
He opened the door and they all trooped out into the passage. Down this they moved, past the broad staircase where the walls were hung with some really valuable oil paintings selected by William Crow's great-uncle. Not far from this staircase was the front door, leading—through a pleasant conservatory—out into the courtyard. It was through this door rather than any other that Mr. Didlington now hastened to pass, picking up his hat from a marble table that offered itself conveniently to his attention.
“Have to get home, Crow. The wife expects me, you know, and it's quite a walk. If I stayed to tea with all you good folk I shouldn't be at Methwold till after dark.”
Philip had the wit to see that Tilly's tactless outburst had really upset the worthy man. What wild creatures women are! He followed the lawyer out into the conservatory which was fragrant with heliotrope and lemon verbena. “You must forgive Mrs. Crow, Didlington,” he said quietly. And then, as the man only nodded with a faint shrug of his shoulders, “The great point you've made clear,” he went on, “is that the family has no case against this
Similar Books
