“Come out of it!” her father had answered. “My dear, I can’t give in yet. Besides, I have my duty to do by Ibble and Co.”
They had thought Margaret too young to understand, but she had understood something of the tragedy, for already Ibble’s foundries were her Hell; and now she remembered it. And she was to play it out with Nick Ordith. Some day he would be, not Ordith the individual, but Ordith’s, the firm and the tradition. Ibble and Ordith, Ordith and Ibble.... She had read in her mother’s mind concerning the amalgamation, and knew what was planned but not spoken of. Her marriage likewise was planned but not spoken of.
After all, she asked herself, making a little kick within the mesh, what had her marriage to do with Ibble’s? But what, too, had the attics and passages in which she would have liked to play had to do with Ibble’s? She had but to say “No” to Ordith, she repeated—one word, one resolve. Often, when her thoughts returned to this point, she would laugh at herself as we laugh when we know we have uttered an empty boast; and sometimes while she laughed there were tears in her eyes.
CHAPTER IX
QUARTERED ON THE KINGDOM
I
After leave which extended longer than any of them had hoped, the junior midshipmen, who had parted at the King Arthur’s gangway, joined the Colonsay. In the sense that in their new ship there was none senior to them they were junior midshipmen no longer. The Gunroom would still have to be tidied by them, but, instead of Clearing-up Stations at Krame’s command, there would be organization based upon common consent. When the atmosphere became foul at sea, they would have to open and shut the scuttles if they wanted fresh air, but this would not be Scuttle Drill. Between them and an emancipation essential to what happiness they might find in the Colonsay and Pathshire there stood only one doubt. Of the Sub-Lieutenant they knew nothing but that his name was Hartington. He was not on board when they joined, and all the questions concerning him that they put to one another remained unanswered.
“Anyhow,” said Cunwell, “if he kicks up a dust it will be easy enough for us—there are six of us—to keep him steady.”
It sounded easy; but the Service tradition was against it.