"The situation is exquisite," declares Marcia. "It seems to just hang on the side of the cliff, and the terraced lawn and gardens would look lovely in a sketch; on an autumn day it would be at its best, with the trees in flaming gold and scarlet, and the intense green of the pines. I really must undertake it before it is too late. Or as 'Desolation' in midwinter it would be wonderfully effective."
"The most effective, I think."
Eugene is angry with Floyd for being the real master of the situation and not allowing him to draw on the firm name for debts. He takes a special delight in showing ill-temper to the elder.
"I am so glad," says Gertrude to Floyd, as soon as there is sufficient lull to be heard. "Broken limbs are sometimes extremely troublesome. But she will not be able to walk for some weeks if it is bad."
"It was dreadfully swollen by the time Dr. Hendricks came. I am very thankful it was no worse, though that will be bad enough just when I wanted her well," he says, with an energetic ring to his voice that causes his mother to glance up.
"It is extremely unfortunate," she comments, with sympathy plainly ironical. "What had we better do? Our dinner invitations are out."
"Everything will go on just the same," he answers, briefly, but he is sick at heart. His life seems sacrificed to petty dissensions and the selfish aims of others. The great, beautiful house is his, but he has no home. The wife that should be a joy and pleasure is turned by them into a thorn to prick him here and there. Even his little child—
"Jane, what was the trouble?" he asks, a few minutes later, as he enters Cecil's room, where she is having a cosy dinner with her small dishes.
"O papa—and I don't mind at all! It's just splendid up here."
"Hush, Cecil," rather peremptorily.