“Which nation doesn’t do wrong, Mummy? Which nation is a Christ with a right to punish another? It’s farcical. And punishing isn’t killing. Christ didn’t kill malefactors.”
“The Gadarene swine,” Mrs. Chadwick murmured. “They were killed. So painfully, too, poor things. I never could understand about that. I hope the Higher Criticism will manage to get rid of it, for it doesn’t really seem kind. They had done no wrong at all and I’ve always been specially fond of pigs myself.”
“Ah, but you never saw a pig with a devil in it,” Oldmeadow suggested, to which Mrs. Chadwick murmured, “I’m sure they seem to have devils in them, sometimes, poor dears, when they won’t let themselves be caught. Do get some more cream, Barbara. It’s really too hot for arguments, isn’t it,” and Mrs. Chadwick sighed with the relief of having rounded that dangerous corner.
Barbara went away with the cream-jug and Johnson emerged bearing the afternoon post.
“Ah. Letters. Good.” Palgrave sat up to take his and Adrienne’s share. “One for you, Adrienne; from Meg. Now we shall see what she says about meeting us in the Tyrol.” His cheeks were still flushed and his eyes brilliant with anger. Though his words were for Adrienne his voice was for Barney, at whom he did not glance.
Adrienne unfolded the foreign sheets, and held them so that Palgrave, leaning against her knee, could read with her.
Mrs. Chadwick had grown crimson. She looked at Oldmeadow. “Dear Meg is having such an interesting time,” she told him. “She and Eric are seeing all manner of delightful places and picking up some lovely bits of old furniture.” Oldmeadow bowed assent. He had his eyes on Adrienne and he was wondering about Barbara.
“What news is there, dear?” Mrs. Chadwick continued in the same badly controlled voice. Palgrave’s face had clouded.
“I’m afraid it may be bad news, Mother Nell,” said Adrienne looking up.
It was the first time Oldmeadow had heard her voice that afternoon and he could hardly have believed it the voice that had once reminded him of a blue ribbon. It was still slow, still deliberate and soft; but it had now the steely thrust and intention of a dagger.