Nobody could imagine on what grounds she based this conviction. Abby, who was quite uninhibited, asked bluntly: “Why on earth?”
“It has been our home for such a long time,” said Mavis, visibly investing it with ancestral qualities. “I know he would hate to think I couldn't bear to live there any more. Of course, it will be dreadfully painful just at first, but I've got to get over that, and I believe in facing up boldly to unpleasant things.”
The slight discomfort which was too often provoked by Miss Warrenby's nobler utterances descended upon the company. After an embarrassed silence, Charles said, in a practical spirit: “Have you got to get used to living there alone? I suppose it's been left to you, but will you be able to keep it up?”
She looked startled, and a little shocked. “Oh, I haven't thought of such things. How could I? Please don't let's talk about them! It seems so sordid, and the very last thing one wants to think about at such a time. I just feel it's my duty to stay at home. Besides, I have to remember poor Gladys. She'll be coming out on the last bus, and I couldn't bear her to find the house all locked up and deserted. Whatever would she think?”
“Well, she couldn't think of much worse than the truth,” said Miss Patterdale. “However, that certainly is a point: you don't want to lose a good maid on top of everything else. I was thinking you'd be alone in the house: I'd forgotten about your Gladys. If you'd really prefer to go back, you'd better stay here until later, and then I'll take you home, and stay with you till Gladys arrives. Good gracious, look at the time! You must all be famished! Charles, you'd better stay to supper: luckily it's cold, except for the potatoes, and they're ready to put in the deep-frying-pan. Abby, lay the table, there's a good child!”
“I don't think I could eat anything,” said Mavis, rather faintly. “I wonder if I might go upstairs and lie down quietly by myself, Miss Patterdale? Somehow, one feels one would like to be alone at a moment like this.”
To the imperfectly disguised relief of Charles and Abby Miss Patterdale raised no objection to this, but took her young friend up to her own bedroom, drew the curtains across the windows, gave her an aspirin, and recommended her to have a nice nap.
“Not but that I've no patience with these airs and graces,” she said severely, when she came downstairs again. “Anyone would think Sampson Warrenby had been kind to the girl, which we all know he wasn't. If he's left his money to her, which I should think he must have done, because I never heard that he had any nearer relations, she's got a good deal to be thankful for. I can't stand hypocrisy!”
“Yes, but I don't think it is, quite,” said Abby, wrinkling her brow. “I mean, she's so frightfully pious that she thinks you jolly well ought to be sorry if your uncle dies, and so she actually is!”
“That's worse! Don't forget the spoon and fork for the salad!” said Miss Patterdale, disappearing in the direction of the kitchen.