Philip pondered over this. “God forgive me, I believe I do,” he said. “But, anyhow, I try not to, and that’s the most I can do. And I will be treated civilly in my own house. How long is he going to stop, do you know?”
“I asked him that yesterday,” said Colin. “He said that, with my permission—sarcastic, you know—he was going to stop as long as he pleased.”
Philip frowned. “Oh, did he?” he said. “Perhaps my permission will have something to do with it.”
“Oh, do tell him to pack off!” said Colin. “It was so ripping here before he came. I had a row with him last night, by the way.”
“What about?”
“Oh, he chose to swear at me for mimicking him. That is how it began. But Raymond will quarrel over anything. He’s not particular about the pretext. Then there was what I said about the tobacconist’s wench.”
They had passed through the box-hedge on to the terrace just below the windows of the long gallery. Colin raised his eyes for one half-second as they came opposite the window-seat which Raymond had been occupying, and saw the top of his black head just above the sill. He raised his voice a little.
“Poor old Raymond,” he said. “We’ve got to make the best of him, father. I suppose he can’t help being so beastly disagreeable.”
“He seems to think he’s got a monopoly of it,” said Philip. “But I’ll show him I can be disagreeable, too. And if he can’t mend his ways, I’ll just send him packing.”
“Oh, it would be ripping without him,” said Colin. “He might come back after you and I have gone to Italy.”