"And all this would be perfectly legitimate and desirable if only Mark's dipsomaniac was in a better world instead of in this one," was the thoughtful résumé of Sir Julian—a résumé of which the wording, if not the substance, found so little favour in his wife's hearing that she had instant resort to the inevitable Roland with which it was her custom to counter his time-honoured Oliver.
"If you remember anything at all of that miserable affair that went so near to wrecking poor Clarence Isbister's life, you can hardly say that."
Sir Julian wished for no recapitulation of the oft-told tragedy alluded to.
"I remember perfectly. He battered his head against the walls of his nursing-home, and I think any girl was well rid of him on that account alone."
Lady Rossiter rose with great quiet.
"I am going to bed. It has been a strain, altogether. But, after all, I shall feel it's been worth anything—whatever it may cost me—if only one can stave off any sort of disastrous crisis. It seems to me that, at the moment, the one thing to be avoided is definitely putting things into words."
"Plain speaking?" enquired Sir Julian. "It is, on the contrary, the one thing that I should really like. But don't be afraid, Edna. We shan't get it—unless it's from Fuller."
XVIII
Sir Julian's desire for plain speaking was more amply gratified on the following day even than he had anticipated. He had purposely made an early appointment at the College, in order to discuss with Mark and the Supervisor the question of the journey to Gloucester, but he was aware that a curiously strong sensation of anxiety constituted an underlying motive for his presence there.
There flashed across his mind the dim recollection of a conversation in which he had taken part, with Mark Easter and Miss Marchrose, one afternoon on the way from Salt Marsh to Culmhayes.