Peter couldn’t tell her that. He had commenced her acquaintance with a prejudice. He could never forget that she had once been the smacking lady. He watched her with his cousins, how she was foolishly lenient or foolishly severe, but wise never. She allowed herself to punish them unjustly; but if anyone, even their father, blamed them, they were “My Eustace” and “My girls.” Especially was this the case with Glory, in whose making Mr. Waffles could claim no share. She could always humble his uncle by speaking regretfully of Captain Spashett.
For Uncle Waffles Peter had a fellow sympathy; it was to him he turned. On those walks among the sand-hills they had fine talks together.
“Old son, I did a big stroke of business this week. Oh yes, I tell you, this little boy knows his way about town. Had two more acres offered me, and borrowed money for the purchase. They’re a long way out, but Sandport’ll grow to them. Now what d’you know about that?”
Uncle Waffles was often confessional with Peter and always exuberant. He asked his opinion on business affairs as though his opinion mattered. He seemed to keep nothing back, even touching on things domestic.
“You mustn’t think I’m complaining of the Duchess. She’s a snorter. But, you know, she’s never understood me. I’m taking her in hand though, and educating her up to my standard. When first I knew her, she seemed to think that loving was wicked. Now what d’you know about that?”
Peter watched for the results of the educating and was disappointed. When Uncle Waffles tried to kiss Aunt Je-hane, she still drew aside her head, saying, “Don’t be silly, Ocky.” She left the room when he began to tell his latest funny story. It was odd, if he was really successful, that she should always treat him like that.
And there were other secrets Peter learnt—that his uncle had an obscure disease which no one must mention. His uncle was very brave and laughed about it. It could be kept in check, so long as he took his “medicine” regularly. His “medicine” could be obtained at any public house and was frequently obtained on those Saturday excursions to and from Birchdale. When Glory accompanied them, Uncle Waffles contrived to do without it.
At Christmas Peter was put in charge of the guard and returned to Topbury. The month that followed was epoch-making—a bitter pleasure. Like a man living on his capital, he was always reckoning how much was left. And then the respite ended and the exile in Egypt recommenced.
He clenched his hands. He would not cry. And yet——.
It was Kay he wanted. His whole life was wrapt up in her.