“And I’m sure Mr. Sabincourt’s done the telephone beautiful,” she said. “Why, when I stand and look at the picture, I declare I think I hear the bell ringing. And as for my necklace and tiaras, Alf, my dear, why it was Eddie who bade me put them on. No, we’ve got no quarrel with Mr. Sabincourt, I do assure you.”
Alfred gave her one glance of concentrated malevolence, and gave it up. Whether he would have tried it again after a short period for reflection is uncertain, but at this moment Claude came out of the house. “Hullo, father!” he said. “I thought I heard the motors. But I was changing.”
“Glad to see you, my boy. Been having a ride?”
“Yes, on the new mare Uncle Alf gave me. She’s a ripper, Uncle Alf. I’m ever so much obliged to you. And how’s the lumbago?”
Alfred’s face had changed altogether when Claude appeared, and for the look of peevish malignancy in his eyes there was substituted one of almost eager affection. And certainly, as Mr. Osborne had said, there was little wonder, for Claude’s appearance might have sweetened the most misanthropic heart. He was dressed quite simply and suitably in white flannels and white lawn tennis shoes, and the contrast between him and his father in his thick, heavy London clothes was quite amazing. His brown clean-shaven face was still a little flushed by his ride, and his hair was even now just drying back into its crisp curls after his bath. He did not bother his mother to pour him out tea, and instead made a bowl of it for himself in an unused slop-basin, moving the tea things with his long-fingered brown hands with a quick deftness that was delightful to watch.
“Four lumps of sugar, Claude?” asked his father. “You’ll be getting stout, my boy, and then what’ll your young lady say to you?”
Alfred turned a glance of renewed malignancy on to his brother as Claude laughed.
“She’ll say I’m taking after my father,” he remarked.
Alfred gave a little thin squeak of amusement. He had entirely failed to annoy his brother, but he hoped that Claude would have better luck. But again he was doomed to disappointment; Mr. Osborne’s watch chain only stirred and shook, as it did when he laughed internally.
Claude looked about for a teaspoon, took his mother’s, and stirring his slop-basin of tea, which was half milk, had a long drink at it.