In reality he was running away. To sit at the table with Mrs. Ansley, and be served by Pilcher, required a knowledge of etiquette he did not possess.
"Mother, grab him," Guy insisted. "He might as well stay, mightn't he?"
Reluctantly Mrs. Ansley appeared in the doorway. In so far as she could ever be vexed with Guy, she was vexed. "If Whitelaw's got to go, dear—"
"He hasn't got to go, have you, Tom? He don't have a home to toe the line at. He just picks up his grub wherever he can get it."
To such an appeal it was impossible to be wholly deaf. "Oh, then, if Whitelaw chooses to stay with us—"
"Oh, I couldn't, ma'am," Tom cried, hurriedly. "I've got to—"
But Guy, who had now reached the floor of the hall, caught him by the arm. "Oh, come along in. It can't hurt us. The old lady's just as democratic as Hildred and me."
Mrs. Ansley was overborne; she couldn't help herself. Tom also was overborne, finding it easier to yield than to rebel. There being but three places laid at the table, one of which was reserved for Mr. Ansley in case he came home for luncheon, Pilcher set a fourth.
"Will you sit there, Whitelaw?"