“What the devil I say—no more—no less,” was the imperturbable reply. “Two or three times a day you tell Delia to clear, and we’re tired of it.”
“Are you?” he returned, coldly sarcastic. “Well, I wonder she requires so much telling.”
“Well, you needn’t tell her any more—it’s waste of trouble. She isn’t going to clear, not until she wants to, anyway; except on these terms—if she clears I clear too. How’s that?”
Thereupon old Calmour went into a petulant kind of rage, and choked and spluttered, and swore that he’d be master in his own house, that they were a pair of impudent, ungrateful baggages, that they might both go to the devil for all he cared, and the sooner they got there the better. Unfortunately, however, he rather neutralised the effect of his peroration by tailing off into the maudlin, and allusions to the wickedness and ingratitude of children who thought nothing of deserting their only parent in his old age, and so forth—to all of which Clytie listened with unruffled composure.
“All right, dad,” she rejoined cheerfully. “Now you’ve blown off steam and are more comfortable again let’s say no more about it. What has been done can’t be undone, that’s certain; in fact, I’ve an instinct that it may have been all for the best after all, so let’s all be jolly together again as before. I’ve got a lot more orders for typing—in fact, almost more than I can do—and if they go on at this rate I shall have to get another machine, and take Delia into partnership—she has an idea of working it already.”
“Well, well, there’s something in that,” said the old man, mollified by this brightening of prospects. “I must have a glass of grog on the strength of it.”
Clytie looked at him for a moment, shook her pretty head, and then got out a bottle. He was quite sober, and it was the first that day.
“Only one,” she said. “No more, mind.”
She did not think it necessary to tell him that this increase of material prosperity was due to the good offices of Wagram. The latter was not the one to do things by halves, and had never forgotten the promise he had made on the occasion of his call at Siege House.
“There you are, Delia!” she triumphantly declared as the orders came pouring in. “You never know what you lose through want of asking. If I hadn’t put it point-blank to him I shouldn’t have got all these—and it makes a difference, I can tell you. What a devil of a good chap he must be!”