The next instant he sat down heavily on the stairs and began openly to blubber. His hat fell off and rolled about undecidedly.
“By Jove!” said Edwin to himself, “I shall have to treat this man like a blooming child!” He was rather startled, and interested. He picked up the hat.
“Better not sit there,” he advised. “Come into the dining-room a bit.”
“What?” Darius asked feebly.
“Is he deaf?” Edwin thought, and half shouted: “Better not sit there. It’s chilly. Come into the dining-room a bit. Come on.”
Darius held out a hand, with a gesture inexpressibly sad; and Edwin, almost before he realised what he was doing, took it and assisted his father to his feet and helped him to the twilit dining-room, where Darius fell into a chair. Some bread and cheese had been laid for him on a napkin, and there was a gleam of red in the grate. Edwin turned up the gas, and Darius blinked. His coarse cheeks were all wet.
“Better have your overcoat off, hadn’t you?”
Darius shook his head.
“Well, will you eat something?”
Darius shook his head again; then hid his face and violently sobbed.