Mrs Redbury fluttered the thin foreign pages, crossed with pointed scribble. “But yes—Max is well as can be hoped, and his Uncle Karl makes enquiries that he is gomfortable. That good Karl! And—ach, unglaublich!—his own nephew, Otto Salinger, is in a gonfinement camp over here, and Karl asks if we, in return, vill find him out and be nice to him? But yes, indeed; perhaps ze poor young man vould like some of my Dampfnudeln; he vill surely be homesick. Otto, do you hear?”
Miss Swinley repeated her pensive cough. And Mr Redbury, wrathfully ignoring the question of his unfortunate namesake, addressed himself again to Captain Phillips.
“Ven do you think we shall knock them out definitely?” His loud tones drowning Trudchen’s agitated twitter. “I have had a tip to lay in yards and yards and yards of punting.”
Samson Phillips’ handsome, heavy features expressed bewilderment.
“Punting?”
“Rather overdone the bunting to-day, haven’t you, father?” David suggested impertinently. It was flag-day for one of the minor Balkan states, and Mr Redbury wore his expensive trophies duplicated and tripled, with the air of a General bespattered with honourable medals.
Mr Redbury told an anecdote of the titled lady who had decorated him. And then Beatrice asked:
“Do you really think we shall win the war so soon? It’s almost too good to be true, isn’t it?” her pleasant, well-bred English voice was a relief after so much duologue from her parents-in-law. “But I don’t think it’s very nice of the Germans to use liquid fire, do you?”
Hardy beamed at her fondly through his glasses. “Not very nice of them, no. Not drawing-room manners, is it, darling?” He was a man of quaint appearance, a startlingly fair replica of Nell and David, who had the dark melancholy eyes, aquiline cast of feature, and sensitive lips that stamped them true Hebrew. But Hardy, with his light eyes, light hair, light skin, and enormous nose, gave somewhat the impression of a Jew who had been well bleached. Hedda’s colouring lay between the two extremes. Con enjoyed the good looks of the family; blue eyes always afire with mirth; tall, athletic figure; incarnate good-nature and high spirits, he was adored by his men, and well-liked by his superior officers. As for his mother—not Max nor Hardy nor David, nor Hedda nor Nell, could in sum equal her love for this miracle of an eldest-born, now in the trenches.