CHAPTER XIX
CRISIS
I
Mr. Fane-Herbert had recently returned to Wei-hai-wei after what his household was led to believe had been a prosperous absence. He bullied the Chinese boys with cheerful energy; he patted Margaret’s hand, and chuckled at the jokes which he gave her to understand he would have made but for her innocent presence; he allowed his moustache to rest a little longer than usual on the forehead his wife raised to him each morning when, after entering the breakfast-room, he exclaimed, rubbing his hands, “Ah, nice hot coffee! Nice crinkly bacon! What more can a man want?... Well, well—good-morning, everyone. Morning, my dear”—all these being signs that the world was revolving as he wished it to revolve.
Ordith had immediately been in attendance. One morning soon after the Gunroom tea-party he and Mr. Fane-Herbert were shut up together for three hours.
“That dreadful business!” said Mrs. Fane-Herbert. “Why can’t your father take a rest, I wonder?”
“He likes it, mother.”
“Yes, dear, I’m afraid he does. It seems odd—looking back. Times change. Things take a grip on one as one gets old.”
“Not only when you get old, mother.”
“No?... Oh, Margaret, darling, are you happy? I do so want you to be happy. If you let anything spoil your life it will be as if mine were spoiled a——” She dared not say, “a second time”; but she went on quaveringly, determined to say now what she had in her heart lest afterwards she had not the courage to say it. “I’m not very strong, you know. I may not be able to do all I should wish for you.”
“But, mother, you were strong enough in refusing to follow father from place to place when he came here. You put your foot down then, didn’t you? And you won.”