Mrs. Manton cast a reproving look at Stalton, shook her head hopelessly, sighed, and continued her breakfast. Mauney, in the best of spirits himself, unconsciously cast his sympathy with Stalton.
“Did you hear the rain on the roof last night, Mr. Stalton?” he asked, by way of making conversation.
“Sure thing.”
“Did it help you to sleep?”
“It doesn’t affect me like that, Mr. Bard,” he answered. “Unfortunately I passed through a period of my life when I had the rain without the roof, and rain ever since brings up the past. And then, in this kind of weather my teeth are always—”
“For God’s sake,” exclaimed Jolvin aloud, bolting from the table, stamping indignantly into the hall, and presently banging the front door behind him, as he left the house.
“What’s wrong with that long drink?” purred Mrs. Manton.
“He’s just acting natural,” Stalton said. “I knew he got out of bed over the foot. He’s had more hard luck with his uncle’s estate in England, too, and I knew he’d scoot if I said anything more about teeth.”
“Well, he can tame himself,” Mrs. Manton submitted calmly. “This is not an institution for the nervous, and if Jolvin doesn’t like it, he’ll discover that there aren’t many invitations out to remain.”
“These fits of his are getting more frequent,” Stalton remarked.