At this moment Tertius Ingpen and Hilda appeared together at the other end of the corridor. Hilda's unsmiling face seemed enigmatic. Ingpen was talking with vivacity.
Edwin thought apprehensively:
"What's up now? What's she doing here, and not George?"
And when the sisters-in-law, so strangely contrasting, shook hands, he thought:
"Is it possible that Albert looks on his wife as something unpredictable? Do those two also have moods, and altercations and antagonisms? Are they always preoccupied about what they are thinking of each other? No! It's impossible. Their life must be simply fiendishly monotonous." And Clara's inferiority before the erect, flashing individuality of Hilda appeared to him despicable. Hilda bent and kissed Rupert, Lucy, Amy and young Clara, as it were with passion. She was marvellous as she bent over Rupert. She scarcely looked at Edwin. Ingpen stood aside.
"I'm very sorry," said Hilda perfunctorily. "I had to send George on an errand to Hanbridge at the last moment."
Nothing more! No genuine sign of regret! Edwin blamed her severely. "Send George on an errand to Hanbridge!" That was Hilda all over! Why the devil should she go out of her way to make unpleasantness with Clara? She knew quite well what kind of a woman Clara was, and that the whole of Clara's existence was made up of domestic trifles, each of which was enormous for her.
"Will he be down to tea?" asked Clara.
"I doubt it."
"Well ... another day, then."