“And the boy? Is he going to starve?”
“Oh,” said Hilda, “Janet will look after him till something turns up. The fact is, that’s one reason why I allowed her to take him.”
“‘Something turns up,’ ‘something turns up!’” Edwin repeated deliberately, letting himself go. “You make me absolutely sick! It’s absolutely incredible how some people will let things slide! What in the name of God Almighty do you think will turn up?”
“I don’t know,” she said, with a certain weakness, still trying to be placidly bitter, and not now succeeding.
“Where is the bailiff-johnny?”
“He’s in the kitchen with one of his friends, drinking.”
Edwin with bravado flopped his hat down forcefully on a table, pushed a chair aside, and strode towards the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked in alarm, standing up.
“Where do you suppose I’m going? I’m going to find out from that chap how much will settle it. If you can’t show any common sense for yourself, other folks must show some for you—that’s all. The brokers in the house! I never heard of such work!”
And indeed, to a respected and successful tradesman, the entrance of the bailiffs into a house did really seem to be the very depth of disaster and shame for the people of that house. Edwin could not remember that he had ever before seen a bailiff. To him a bailiff was like a bug—something heard of, something known to exist, but something not likely to enter the field of vision of an honest and circumspect man.