“Well, come in, come in,” he replied gruffly. And as he he sped from the window, where he was drumming on the , to the hearthrug, so that he should have the air of not having moved since Maggie’s previous visit. He knew not why he made this , unless it was that he thought that Maggie’s impression of the seriousness of the crisis might be .
She stood in the , evidently and sympathetic, and behind her stood Mrs Nixon, in a condition of great mental .
“I think you’d better come and have your tea,” said Maggie firmly, and yet gently. She was soft and , and of asserting herself with dignity; but she was his elder, and there were moments when an unusual, scarce-perceptible quality in her voice would demand from him a particular attention.
He shook his head, and looked sternly at his watch, in the manner of one who could be . He was astonished to see that the hour was a quarter past six.
“Where is he?” he asked.
“Father? He’s had his tea and gone back to the shop. Come along.”
“I must wash myself first,” said Edwin gloomily. He did not wish to yield, but he was undeniably very hungry indeed.
Mrs Nixon could not leave him alone at tea, worrying him with offers of specialities to him. He wondered who had told the old thing about the affair. Then he reflected that she had probably heard his outburst when he entered the house. Possibly the pert, nice niece also had heard it. Maggie remained sewing at the bow-window of the dining-room while he ate a plenteous tea.
“Father said I could tell you that you could pay yourself an extra half-crown a week wages from next Saturday,” said Maggie suddenly, when she saw he had finished. It was always Edwin who paid wages in the Clayhanger establishment.
He was extremely startled by this news, with all that it implied of surrender and of pacific intentions. But he endeavoured to hide what he felt, and only snorted.
“He’s been talking, then? What did he say?”
“Oh! Not much! He told me I could tell you if I liked.”
“It would have looked better of him, if he’d told me himself,” said Edwin, to be ruthless. Maggie offered no response.
Two.
After about a quarter of an hour he went into the garden, and kicked stones in front of him. He could not classify his thoughts. He considered himself to be tranquillised now, but he was mistaken. As he idled in the beautiful August near the garden-front of the house, faintly the conversation of Mrs Nixon and her niece as it floated through the open window of the kitchen, round the corner, together with quiet sounds of washing-up, he heard a sudden noise in the garden-porch, and turned swiftly. His father stood there. Both of them were off guard. Their eyes met.
“Had your tea?” Darius asked, in an tone.
“Yes,” said Edwin.
Darius, having saved his face, hurried into the house, and Edwin moved down the garden, with heart sensibly beating. The encounter renewed his .
And at the corner of the garden, over the hedge, which had been repaired, Janet him. She seemed to have sprung out of the ground. He could not avoid greeting her, and in order to do so he had to dominate himself by force. She was in white. She appeared always to wear white on fine summer days. Her smile was benignant.
“So you’re installed?” she began.
They talked of the removal, she asking questions and commenting, and he giving brief replies.
“I’m all alone to-night,” she said, in a pause, “except for Alicia. Father and mother and the boys are gone to a fête at Longshaw.”
“And Miss Lessways?” he inquired self-consciously.
“Oh! She’s gone,” said Janet. “She’s gone back to London. Went yesterday.”
“Rather sudden, isn’t it?”
“Well, she had to go.”
“Does she live in London?” Edwin asked, with an air of
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