“My dear, have you noticed anything?” asked his mother rather quickly. “Certainly during that recitation she looked a little—a little inscrutable. What a deplorable performance, was it not? And if that odious woman had sung any more I think I should have screamed. But Dora and Claude? Do you think the dear fellow is a little on her nerves?”
“Yes, I think the dear fellow is a little on her nerves,” said Jim, with marked evenness of tone. “Can you not imagine the possibility of that? Consider.”
It was very likely that Lady Austell considered. She did not, however, think good to inform Jim of the result of this consideration.
“And he?” she asked.
“I am not in his confidence,” said Jim. “I am only in his flat. And here it is. Thanks so much, dear mother, for the lift. Won’t you come in? No?”
“I must speak to Dora,” said she, as the brougham stopped.
“I think that would be very unwise of you. She knows all you would say, about his honour, his kindness, and so on. But at the present moment I think she feels that all the cardinal virtues do not make up for—well, for things like that recitation.”
Lady Austell thought over this for a moment as Jim got out.
“You are friends with Claude?” she asked. “Real friends, I mean?”
“No, I can’t stand him, and I think he can’t stand me.”