“Mrs Morgan is well, I hope?” Miss Agatha inquired conversationally, filling in one of those abrupt, unaccountable, and disconcerting pauses in the talk, which flowed with even dulness between the hitches.
“Thank you, yes. My mother enjoys excellent health. Henry’s wife has been laid up; they had to operate for appendicitis. She’s about again now. Henry and the boys are flourishing.”
There followed polite expressions of regret for Mrs Henry Morgan’s indisposition, broken into by the arrival of William, whose greeting of Mr Morgan overflowed with cordiality.
“Been looking to see you in these parts for months,” he said. “Beastly weather for travelling; the wind is cutting. Are those hot scones, Prudence?”
William was so accustomed to being waited upon by the different members of his family that it never occurred to him to attend to his own needs. He did not observe the flush of annoyance that overspread Prudence’s face, nor the reluctance with which she rose to fetch the scones in question; Mr Morgan observed it, however, and was before her in reaching the fireplace where the scones lay on a hot plate inside the fender. He stooped for the plate; and the stiffness of his movements, while apparent to Prudence, passed uncriticised on this occasion. William protested loudly.
“Oh, come!” he said. “You shouldn’t do that. I can’t allow a visitor to wait on me. One of the girls will do it.”
Mr Morgan disregarded the remonstrance, refusing to relinquish the dish of scones.
“My mother brought me up to wait upon her,” he said, smiling. “It comes natural to me.”
Prudence felt pleased; but she had no faith in the lesson proving beneficial to William; he would assuredly miss the point.
“Well, you’re a younger man than I,” said William jocularly. “I shouldn’t show such energy after a long journey.”