"Come on," he said to his wife at four in the afternoon. "You can leave the dinner arrangements to Stagg. Let's go across the channel and get the taste out of our mouths."
They had dinner at Oliver Thorn's.
"Funny," Rod thought, as he sat on the calk-splintered porch steps watching the smoke curl and weave from the end of a cigarette. "Funny what an atmosphere can do to you. 'Better a dinner of herbs where love is than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.' The ancient wisdom is still wisdom. If Grove can pull off that sort of thing whenever he likes, we'll have to leave Hawk's Nest. There's no defence against it."
They rowed home at dusk. Phil had come back. The three of them sat out on the porch and observed the merriment quickening to a livelier tempo as the evening wore on. Phil made no comment for a long time.
"One would imagine," he observed at last, rather dryly, "that we three were taboo. We don't seem to be very popular with this crowd."
"There's been about thirty hours of this semi-glacial period," Rod informed him. "It's getting old with me."
"What about you?" Phil turned to Mary,
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I'm like the minister when he was kicked by the mule. I consider the source," she said.
"Proper attitude," Phil said. "I've been taking notice. I know our elder brother's pleasing little tricks. I wouldn't let it annoy me, sister Mary. Grove often starts things he can't finish. I didn't think he was quite stupid enough for this."