“Certainly,” said Edwin pacifically, admitting the entire propriety of the visit.
“Why’s he wearing his best clothes?” Clara demanded suddenly. And Mrs Hamps showed a sympathetic appreciation of the importance of the question.
“Ask me another!” said Edwin. “But you can’t send for a doctor because a man’s wearing his best clothes.”
Maggie smiled, scarce perceptibly. Albert gave a guffaw. Clara was slightly irritated.
“Poor little dear!” murmured Mrs Hamps, caressing the baby. “Well, I must be going,” she sighed.
“We shall see how he goes on,” said Edwin, in his rôle of responsible person.
“Perhaps it will be as well if you say nothing about us calling,” whispered Mrs Hamps. “We’ll just go quietly away. You can give a hint to Mrs Nixon. Much better he shouldn’t know.”
“Oh! much better!” said Clara.
Edwin could not deny this. Yet he hated the chicane. He hated to observe on the face of the young woman and of the old their instinctive impulses towards chicane, and their pleasure in it. The whole double visit was subtly offensive to him. Why should they gather like this at the first hint that his father was not well? A natural affectionate anxiety... Yes, of course, that motive could not be denied. Nevertheless, he did not like the tones and the gestures and the whisperings and oblique glances of their gathering.