Upon Clay’s learning of the fate that his father had in store for him, he lost little time in subjecting his mother to a spate of letters, which varied in tone between the darkly threatening and the wildly despairing. He informed her that death would be preferable to him than life at home; that the study of the law would kill his soul; that he had no intention of submitting to Penhallow’s arbitrary commands; that he had never had a chance in life; that no one understood him; and, finally, that his mother ought to do something about it.
To all of these effusions Faith replied suitably; and although she had no idea what she could possibly do about it, she quite agreed that it was her sacred duty to protect her only son from Penhallow’s tyranny. She paid a great many visits to Clifford’s office, and would no doubt have paid more had he not prudently instructed his clerk to deny her; and tried successively to enlist the support of each of Clay’s half-brothers. This attempt was unattended by success. Eugene and the twins, while viewing Clay’s prospective sojourn at Trevellin with disfavour, were yet too little affected by it to meddle in what was admittedly a sleeveless errand; Ingram, who believed in keeping upon easy terms with everyone except Raymond, gave her a good deal of sympathy, agreed with every word she had to say, promised to do what he could, and left it at that; and Raymond replied curtly that Penhallow was already aware of his disapproval, and that to say anything more on the subject was a waste of time which he for one did not propose to indulge in. He added that since, under the terms of Penhallow’s will, Faith would be in possession of an ample jointure upon his death, she had better contain her soul in patience for a year or two, at the end of which time she would no doubt be in a position to finance Clay in whatever wild-cat scheme for his advancement he had taken into his head. This brusquely delivered piece of advice so much annoyed Faith that she succumbed to one of her nervous attacks, complained of headache and insomnia, and sent Loveday to Bodmin to procure for her at the chemist’s a quantity of drugs the free consumption of which might have been expected to have ruined any but the most resilient constitution; and bored everyone by describing the increasing number of veronal-drops now necessary to induce the bare minimum of sleep.
It might have been supposed that she would have found, if not an ally, a sympathiser in Vivian, but Vivian, besides feeling that anyone who had been fool enough to marry Penhallow deserved whatever was coming to her, was a great deal too absorbed in her own troubles to have any attention to spare for another’s. Her last interview with Penhallow on the question of her enforced residence at Trevellin seemed to have stirred the fire of her resentment to a flame. Every petty inconvenience or annoyance became a major ill in her eyes; she tried in a variety of ways to inspire Eugene with a desire to break away from his family; wrung from a reluctant editor a half-promise to employ him as dramatic critic on his paper; obtained orders to view a number of desirable flats in London; and even evolved an energetic plan for earning money on her own account by conducting interested foreigners round London, and pointing out places of note to them. None of these schemes came to fruition, because it was beyond her power to goad Eugene into making the least alteration in his indolent habits. A perpetual crease dwelled between her straight brows; she developed an uncomfortable trick of pacing up and down rooms, smoking rapidly as she did so, and obviously hammering out ways and means in her impatient brain. It was the freely expressed opinion of Conrad that she would shortly blow up, and this, indeed, was very much the impression she conveyed to a disinterested onlooker. Inaction being insupportable to anyone of her restless temperament, and the natural outlet for her enemy being effectively plugged by her husband’s refusal to bestir himself, she took to tramping for miles over the Moor, an exercise which might have had a more beneficial effect upon the state of hey mind had she not occupied it the whole time in brooding over the insufferable nature of her position at Trevellin. When in the house, she spent her time between ministering to Eugene’s comfort, quarrelling with her brothers-in-law, and finding fault with the domestic arrangements.
It was she who was the loudest in condemnation of Jimmy’s increasing idleness, and of his dissipated habits, which were becoming daily more marked. She said that he spent all the money which Penhallow casually bestowed upon him at the nearest public-house, and complained that he had several times answered her in a most insolent manner. No one paid any heed to this charge, but none of the Penhallows was blind to the deterioration in their baseborn relative. Penhallow was becoming still more dependent upon him, and seemed to prefer his ministrations even to Martha’s. As it amused him to encourage Jimmy to recount for his edification any items of news current in the house, it was not surprising that the young man should have begun to presume upon his position, which he did to such an unwise extent upon one occasion that Bart kicked him down the backstairs, causing him to sprain his wrist, and to break a rib. He picked himself up, muttering threats of vengeance, and directing so malevolent a look upwards at Bart that that irate young gentleman started to come down the stairs to press his lesson home more indelibly still. Jimmy took himself off with more haste than dignity, fortified himself with a considerable quantity of gin, and in this pot-valiant condition went to Penhallow’s room, where he made a great parade of his hurts, and said sullenly that he wasn’t going to stay at Trevellin to be knocked about by them as was no better than himself. Had he received the slightest encouragement, he would have embarked upon an account of his suspicions of Bart’s intentions towards Loveday, but Penhallow interrupted him, barking at him: “Damn your impudence, who are you to say where you’ll stay? You’ll stay where I tell you! Broken a rib, have you? What of it? Serve you right for getting on the wrong side of that young devil of mine! I’ve spoilt you, that’s what I’ve done!”
But when Penhallow discovered that the sprained wrist made it impossible for Jimmy to perform many of the duties in the sick-room which had been allotted to him, he swore, and commanded Bart to leave the lad alone.
“I’ll break every bone in his body, if he gives me any of his lip!” promised Bart.
Penhallow regarded him with an irascibility not unmixed with pride. “No, you won’t,” he said mildly. “I need him to wait on me. When I’m gone you can please yourself. Until then you’ll please me!”
Bart scowled down at him, as he lay in his immense bed. “What you want with such a dirty little tick beats me. Guv’nor!” he said. “I wouldn’t let him come within a ten-foot pole of me, if I were in your shoes!”
As this interchange took place after dinner, when the entire family had been gathered together in Penhallow’ room, after the custom which he had instituted upon first taking to his bed and ever afterwards refused to modify , it seemed good to several other people to join in the conversation, each one adding his or her mite to the general condemnation of Jimmy’s character and habits. Even Ingram, who had limped up from the Dower House to pass the evening in his father’s room, gave it as his opinion that the air of Trevellin would be purer for Jimmy’s absence; while Conrad asserted that he had lately missed a number of small articles, and was prepared to bet that they had found their way into Jimmy’s pocket.
“You’re all of you jealous of poor little Jimmy,” said Penhallow, becoming maudlin. “You’re afraid of what I’ll leave him in my will. He’s the only one of the whole pack of you who cares tuppence about his old father.”
Everyone knew that Penhallow was under no illusions about the nature of his misbegotten offspring, and was merely trying to promote a general feeling of annoyance, but only Raymond, who contented himself with giving a contemptuous laugh, could resist the temptation of picking up the glove tossed so provocatively into the midst of the circle.
They were all present, scattered about the great room, which was lit by candles in the wall-sconces, and in massive chandeliers of Sheffield plate, which stood upon tables wherever they were needed. There was also an oil lamp upon the refectory table, brought in by Faith, who complained that she could not see to sew by the flickering candle-light. She sat with her fair head bent over a wisp of embroidery, her workbasket open on the oak table at her elbow, the scissors in it caught by the flames of the candles on the wall, and flashing back brilliant points of light. She had chosen a straight-backed Jacobean chair, and drooped in it, seldom looking up from her work, her whole pose suggesting that she was enduring a nightly penance. Her sister-in-law occupied an arm-chair on one side of the fire, opposite to the one in which Raymond sat, glancing through the pages of the local paper. Clara was wearing a tea-gown, once black, now rusty with age; she had turned the skirt up over her knees to preserve it from the scorching heat of the leaping fire in the huge hearth, and displayed the flounces of an ancient petticoat. Her bony fingers were busy with her crochet; a pair of pince-nez perched on the high bridge of her nose, and was secured to her person by a thin gold chain. attached to a brooch, pinned askew on her flat chest. The disreputable cat, Beelzebub, lay asleep in her lap. Near to her, seated astride a spindle-legged chair with a rotting brocade seat, was Conrad. He had crossed his arms along the delicately curved back of the chair, and was resting his chin on them. Eugene, after a slight disputee with Ingram, had obtained sole possession of the chesterfield at the foot of the bed, and lay on it in an attitude of lazy grace. Vivian, wearing a dress of flaring scarlet, was a splash of colour in the open space immediately before the fire, hugging her knees on a stool between Clara’s and Raymond’s chairs, turning her back upon the bed, staring moodily into the flames. Ingram, oddly discordant in a dinner jacket and a stiff shirt, which Myra insisted on his wearing every evening, sat in a deep chair pulled away from the fire, with one leg stretched out before him for greater ease, his elbows on the arms of his chair, and his fingertips lightly pressed together. Bart was leaning up against the lacquer cabinet with his hands in his pockets, the light from the candles above his head, which was wavering in the draught from the windows, playing strange tricks with his face, giving it a saturnine expression, making him look, Faith thought, glancing up from her work, like a devil, which he was not. The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of the cigars Penhallow and Raymond were smoking, which overcame the thinner, more acrid fumes of the twins’ cheap cigarettes. How unhealthy it was, Faith thought, to sleep in a room stale with tobacco smoke! How hot it was in here, how fantastic the candle-light, dazzling the eyes, making the red lacquer cabinet glow as though it were on fire, casting queer shadows in the corners of the room, playing over the strong, dark faces of Penhallow and his sons! She gave a little inward shudder, and bent again over her needlework, wondering how many purgatorial evenings lay ahead of her, and how she could save Clay from being drawn into a circle as alien to him as it was to her.
"Jealous of Jimmy the Bastard!” Ingram was saying. “Oh, come now, sir, that’s a bit too steep!”
“He’s a good boy,” said Penhallow. “Damme if I don’t do something handsome for him!”
“If you want to do something handsome for anyone, let it be for one of your legitimate sons!” Vivian threw over her shoulder.
“Your precious husband, I suppose!” jeered Penhallow.
“Why not?” she demanded.
“Because I don’t want to, that’s why, you little madam!”
“That’s where you’re so beastly unfair!” she said. “You only encourage that disgusting Jimmy because you know everyone else loathes him!”
Eugene reached out a long arm, and tickled the back of her neck where the short tendrils of hair curled upwards. His fingers conveyed comfort and remonstrance both. She flushed quickly, and shifted the stool on which she sat nearer to the sofa, so that he could put his arm round her, and she lean back against his shoulder.
“Look here, Father!” said Conrad, raising his chin from his wrists. “Nobody objects to your employing your little mistakes, if you want to, but for God’s sake teach ’em to keep their places! If Jimmy treats me to much more of his bloody impudence there’ll be murder done!”
“Somebody might, at the same time, teach him to polish my shoes properly,” suggested Eugene, in a gentle voice.
“So he’s been cheeking you, has he, Con?” grinned Penhallow. “By God, he’s got spirit, that lad!”
“Spirit!” exploded Bart. “He’s a sneaking little rat. trading on your blooming protection! You lie there letting him gammon you into thinking he’s worth his salt. but if you saw how he behaves outside this room you’d darned soon kick him out!”
“That’s right,” nodded Clara. “Can’t stand corn. You shouldn’t take him round the country with you, Adam, introducing him to decent people. It stands to reason the boy must get above himself.”
“Old Mother Venngreen been complaining to you. Clara?” asked Penhallow, with a chuckle. “That did me more good than all Lifton’s drenches, I can tell you. Nearly split my sides watching the old turkey-hen gobble and ruffle up her feathers!”
The twins shouted with laughter, not having known previously of this historic encounter, but Ingram looked a trifle shocked, and said in a expostulating tone: “No, really, sir, I say! You can’t do that sort of thing! I mean, the Vicar’s wife...”
Bart gave a crow of delight. “Ingram and the old school tie! Play up for the side — don’t let the school down — stick to the done-thing, fellers!”
“White man’s burden,” said Conrad. “Example to the neighbourhood. Long live our pukka sahib!”
"Shut up, you young fools!” Ingram said, reddening. “All the same, in your position, sir—”
“Blast your impudence, are you going to tell me how I ought to behave myself?” demanded Penhallow, but with more amusement than anger.
“I don’t know how we are ever to look Mrs Venngreen in the face again, any of us,” said Faith, in a low voice.
“Speaking for myself,” murmured Eugene, drawing Vivian’s head back so that he could smile down into her adoring eyes, “I don’t find that I have any very overpowering desire to look her in the face. None that I can’t master, you know.”
“I had a horse with a face like Mrs Venngreen’s,” remarked Clara reminiscently. “You’ll remember him, Adam: a chestnut with a white blaze. He had a bad habit of jumpin’ off his forehand.”
“Talking about horses,” interrupted Bart suddenly, turning his head towards Raymond, “Weep says it’s spavin, Ray.”
“What’s that?” Penhallow demanded. “If you’ve got a spavined horse in the stables, get rid of him!”
“That’s right,” agreed Clara. “I don’t care what anyone may say: a spavined horse is an unsound horse.”
“Rubbish!” said Raymond, retiring into the newspaper again. “You manage your own horses, and leave me to manage mine, Aunt Clara.”
“Well, what’s to be done about it?” asked Bart. “Blisters?”
“Likely to cause absorption,” Raymond responded briefly. “I’ll look him over in the morning.”
“You’ll have to cool his system before you treat him,” said Ingram.
“Thanks for the tip!” Raymond retorted, throwing him a scornful glance. “Any other obvious remarks?”
“I’d fire him,” remarked Conrad.
Eugene yawned. “From which one gathers that he’s not one of your horses. Don’t you, Ray! Ruin his appearance for good and all if you do.”
“Try setons!” recommended Bart.
“Oh, shut up, the lot of you!” said Raymond. “There’s nothing but a slight exostosis! Do you think I was born yesterday?”
“Biniodide of mercury,” said Penhallow. “Nothing like it!”
Raymond grunted, and refused thereafter to be drawn into the discussion which waxed louder and louder, Penhallow recalling cases he had known of spavined horses from his youth upwards; the twins arguing hotly on the most efficacious cure for the complaint; and Ingram and Clara putting in comments and suggestions whenever they could make their voices heard above the rest.
Faith set her teeth, and rethreaded her needle, trying to shut out the sound of boisterous voices, to wrap herself up in some world of her own that contained no horses, no aggressively assertive young men, no coarse-tongued old ones, and above all no over-heated, overcrowded, fantastically furnished bedrooms where she could be compelled to sit night after night while her temples throbbed, and her eyes ached from the unguarded flames of the countless candles all round the room.
Vivian, within the circle of Eugene’s arm, leaning her head back against his shoulder, had let her eyelids droop, one part of her mind irritated by the turmoil of dispute raging about her, the other dreaming of a little flat where she could be alone with Eugene, who was so very dear , whose very touch could soothe and comfort her exasperation, and whom she wanted to possess utterly, wrapping him round her with love, keeping him safe from his lusty, unappreciative brothers. While he remained at Trevellin she could never feel him to be wholly her own. He might bicker languidly with his brothers, but he was one of them, sharing many of their interests, imperceptibly changing from the man-of-the-world, the artist, she had married to one whose life was bound up in the confines of a Cornish estate which she hated.
I must get him away, she thought. Somehow, anyhow, I must manage to get him away from this dreadful place!
The discussion on the proper treatment of, and improbable cure of, bone spavin was brought to an abrupt end by Penhallow, who suddenly said: “I want a drink! Where’s that damned boy, Jimmy?” and reached out a hand to tug at the crimson bell-pull beside his bed.
No agreement had been reached, the maximum amount of abuse had been indulged in, opinions scoffed at or shouted down, and a quantity of irrelevant anecdote recited. The Penhallows, in fact, had spent a pleasant twenty minutes giving vent to their exuberant vitality, and were now perfectly content to allow the subject to drop.
How awful they are! thought Faith. I can’t go on like this! I can’t, I can’t! I shall go mad!
The bell was answered in a few moments by Reuben and Jimmy both, Reuben carrying in the massive silver tray with all the bottles, decanters, glasses, and sandwiches with which it was the custom of the Penhallows to refresh themselves during the evening; and Jimmy, with one arm ostentatiously in a sling, bearing the overflow on a small, tarnished salver.
“What the hell makes you so late, you old rascal?” demanded Penhallow jovially.
Reuben dumped the large tray down on the refectory table, and gave a sniff. “If Master Bart would be so obliging as to leave this young varmint the use of both his arms, perhaps I wouldn’t be late,” he said severely. A glance at the clock under the glass shade caused him to add: “Which I’m not, sir, I’ll thank you to notice. Ten o’clock’s been the time for you to call for a drink since I don’t know when, and if you’re going to change your habits at your time of life we shall be all at sixes and sevens.”
“Damn your impudence!” said Penhallow cheerfully. “What the devil are you doing with that thing round your neck, Jimmy? Take if off, and come and shake up my pillows!”
“Mr Bart’s sprained my wrist,” said Jimmy, with an air of patient endurance.
“I know that, fool! Think yourself lucky he didn’t break it, and stop makin’ a damned exhibition of yourself! You leave your little half brother alone, Bart, or I’ll have something to say to you!”
Raymond looked up at this, a heavy scowl on his brow, and exclaimed: “My God, that’s too much! You can get out, Jimmy!”
“Oh, no, he can’t!” said Penhallow, grinning wickedly. “I want him to shake up my pillows. Come here, Jimmy. my boy! Don’t pay any attention to them: I won’t let ’em hurt you.”
Jimmy was so pleased at being told to disregard Raymond’s orders that he slipped his injured arm out of the sling, and went towards the bed. Bart, straightening himself suddenly, got between him and it, and said dangerously: “You heard Mr Raymond: get the hell out of this before I boot you!”
“Bart!” roared Penhallow, making Faith start nervously, and prick her finger.
“I’ll shake your pillows up for you when I’ve seen your pet cocktail off, Dad,” replied Bart, not turning his head.
“Hark forrard, Bart!” Conrad encouraged his twin, in a ringing tone.
Jimmy retreated a few paces, casting a sidelong look at the door. Reuben went on setting out the glasses on the table, as though nothing out of the way were taking place.
“Bart!” thundered Penhallow.
“Now, don’t let’s have any vulgar brawling, I do implore you, Bart!” begged Eugene. "Ware riot, my lad, ’ware riot! Really, a false scent! It isn’t worth it!”
Bart hunched his shoulders, and turned reluctantly to confront Penhallow, who had reached for the ebony cane beside his bed, and was raising it threateningly. The fierce old eyes met and held the sullen young ones. “By God, Bart, if you don’t obey me I’ll have the hide off your back!” Penhallow swore. "Jimmy, you little rat, come here!”
Bart seemed to hesitate for an instant; then, with a laugh and a shrug, he lounged back to his position by the lacquer cabinet. With an air of conscious virtue, Jimmy shook up the pillows, and replaced them, straightened the flaring patchwork quilt, and asked if there was anything else he could do for his master.
Penhallow gave a chuckle. “You take yourself off, and don’t you give your brothers any more of your impudence, hear me? One of these days I shan’t be here to hold the pack off you, and then where will you be, eh? Off with you, now!”
“And no sneaking off on the sly, either,” said Reuben, accompanying Jimmy to the door. “Since that wrist of yours isn’t too bad to let you shake up the plaster’s pillow, we’ll see if it won’t lend a hand in the pantry after all.”
The double doors closed behind them. Penhallow looked under his brows at Bart, a smile hovering round his mouth. “You young devil! Getting the bit between your teeth, aren’t you? Pour me out a drink!”
Raymond, who had risen to his feet, the local paper crushed in one hand, said with a rasp in his voice: “Hell, do you think I’ll put up with that?”
“Yes, or anything else I choose to make you put up with!” Penhallow returned contemptuously.
“Our half-brother! My God, what next?” Raymond said furiously.
“Oh, he’s one of mine all right!” Penhallow said, malice twinkling in his eyes. “Look at his nose!”
“I don’t doubt it! But if you imagine I’m going to have my orders ignored by him or any other of your bastards, you’ll learn your mistake!”
“Well, damn it, it was you who tried to override Father’s orders to him!” interrupted Ingram.
Raymond rounded on him, an ugly look on his face. “You keep out of this! What are you doing here, anyway? Haven’t you got a home of your own to sprawl in — rentfree?”
Conrad gave a crack of laughter, and started to chant: “Worry, worry, worry!” Eugene began to laugh; and Bart ranged himself on Raymond’s side, loudly applauding his conduct in having ordered Jimmy out of the room. Above the tangle of angry voices, Penhallow’s made itself easily audible. Vivian, realising that the family was fairly embarked upon one of its zestful quarrels, clenched her fists, and said sharply: “Oh, my God, how I loathe you all! How I loathe you all!”
Faith folded her embroidery with trembling hands, and slipped from the room. She found that her knees were shaking, and had to stand for a moment, leaning against the wall, to recover herself. The quarrels were becoming more frequent, she thought, or she was too worn-down to bear them as once she must have been able to. The sound of angry voices beat still upon her ears; she fled from it, down the long broad passage to the main hall, and up the shallow stairs to her room at the head of them, and sank into a chair, pressing her hands to her temples.
She found herself thinking of Clay, picturing him in the midst of such a scene as was now raging in Penhallow’s room. As sensitive as she was herself, afraid of his father, and of his brothers, wincing from a raised voice, life at Trevellin, if it did not drive him out of his mind, must surely wreck his nervous system. He would be expected to do all the things his more robust half brothers delighted in, and between his fear of their contempt if he refused his fences, and his fear of the fences themselves, his life would be a lasting misery.
His last letter to his mother had announced his intention of defying the parental mandate, and seeking employment in London, but Faith knew that this was only bluster, and not meant for other eyes than hers. He would come home at the end of the term, resentful, yet not daring to speak out boldly to Penhallow. He would pour out his troubles to his mother; he would think that somehow or other she ought to be able to protect him, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to see that she was as helpless as he in Penhallow’s remorseless grip. She did not blame him: she knew that she ought to help him, and thought that there was nothing she would not do to set him free from Penhallow’s tyranny. But there did not seem to be anything she could do, since her entreaties had been of no avail, and she was wholly without the means of supplying Clay with money to make him independent of Penhallow.
She tried to explain this to him when he came back to Trevellin early in June, but he had inherited her dislike of facing unwelcome facts and was more inclined to descant upon what they might both have done, had almost every circumstance of their respective positions been other than they were, than to form any plan founded on the situation as it was.
She went to meet him at the station in the aged limousine. His greeting was scarcely designed to flatter her. “Oh, Mother, this is too ghastly!” he exclaimed. hurrying towards her on the platform. “Can’t you do anything!”
It was not in her nature to return a baldly unpalatable answer, so a good deal of time was spent in a discussion founded on eventualities which might, but almost certainly would not, occur. “If only Cliff would have the courage to tell your father he doesn’t want you as a pupil!” Faith said. “If only I had some relations with money! If only I could get your father to see that you’d be wasted in Cliff’s office!”
“I do think you ought to have some influence over Father!” Clay said.
In this unprofitable fashion the drive to Trevellin was accomplished, mother and son arriving at the old grey house below the Moor in a state of considerable nervous agitation, Faith having developed a nagging, headache, and Clay experiencing the familiar sinking at the pit of his stomach which always attacked him at the prospect of having to confront Penhallow.
In appearance, he was not strikingly like either parent. His colouring was nondescript, inclined to fair, but although his eyes had something of Faith’s expression they were not blue, but grey. He had the aquiline cast of features of all the Penhallows, but his mother’s soft mouth and indeterminate chin. He was rather above the average height, but had yet to fill out, being at present very thin and immature. He had several nervous tricks, such as smoothing his hair, and fidgeting with the knot of his tie; from having been the butt of his brothers he had acquired a defensive manner, and was often self-conscious in company, assuming an ease of manner which it was plain he did not possess. He was apt to take offence too readily and was far too prone to adopt a belligerent tone with his half-brothers; and no amount of mockery could break him of unwise attempts to impress them by recounting unconvincing tales of his strong handling of such persons as form-masters, Deans, and Proctors.
The first person he encountered on entering the house was Bart, who hailed him good-naturedly enough, saying: “Hello, kid! I forgot you were descending on us today. Skinny as ever, I see.” He turned his head, as Eugene came out of the library, and called: “Hi, Eugene! The budding lawyer’s blown in!”
Clay bristled at once, and replied in rather too high-pitched a voice: “You don’t suppose I’m going to go into Cliff’s office, do you? I can assure you that I shall have something to say to Father about that!”
Bart grinned. “I’ll bet you will! I can hear you: Yes, Father. No, Father! Just as you wish, Father.”
Faith at once rushed to the defence of her young: “Can’t you let the poor boy set foot inside the house without starting to tease him? I should have thought that after not having seen him for three months you might have found something pleasant to say to him!”
“Kiss your little brother, Bart!” said Eugene reprovingly. “Well, Benjamin? Will you receive our address of welcome now, or later?”
“Oh, shut up!” said Clay. “You’re not a bit funny!”
“Darling, I know you’ll want a bath after that horrid journey,” Faith said, ignoring Eugene. “I told Sybilla to be sure to see that the water was properly heated. Come upstairs, won’t you?”
She took his arm, and pressed it affectionately, and he went with her up the stairs, leaving Bart to grimace expressively at Eugene, and to observe that why Penhallow should want to draw such an appalling little wet back into the fold was a matter passing his comprehension.