Flurried by the encounter, Jane stood looking about her. Then came a rush of disappointment as she reflected that the visitor of Wednesday evenings would call in vain. Hearing that her grandfather was absent, doubtless he would take his leave at once. Or, would he—
In a minute or two she ran downstairs to exchange a word with Mrs. Byass. On entering the kitchen she was surprised to see Bessie sitting idly by the fire. At this hour it was usual for Mr. Byass to have returned, and there was generally an uproar of laughing talk. This evening, dead silence, and a noticeable something in the air which told of trouble. The baby—of course a new baby—lay in a bassinette near its mother, seemingly asleep; the other child was sitting in a high chair by the table, clattering ‘bricks.’
Bessie did not even look round.
‘Is Mr. Byass late?’ inquired Jane, in an apprehensive voice.
‘He’s somewhere in the house, I believe,’ was the answer, in monotone.
‘Oh dear!’ Jane recognised a situation which had already come under her notice once or twice during the last six months. She drew near, and asked in a low voice:
‘What’s happened, Mrs. Byass?’
‘He’s a beast! If he doesn’t mind I shall go and leave him. I mean it!’
Bessie was in a genuine fit of sullenness. One of her hands was clenched below her chin; her pretty lips were not pretty at all; her brow was rumpled. Jane began to seek for the cause of dissension, to put affectionate questions, to use her voice soothingly.
‘He’s a beast!’ was Bessie’s reiterated observation; but by degrees she added phrases more explanatory. ‘How can I help it if he cuts himself when he’s shaving?—Serve him right!—What for? Why, for saying that babies was nothing but a nuisance, and that my baby was the ugliest and noisiest ever born!’