A door opened across the wide hall; Nathaniel's voice came to Mathilda's ears. "Damn you, stop pawing me about! For two pins, I'd turn the whole lot of them out of doors, bag and baggage!"
Mathilda smiled to herself. Joseph at it again!
"Now, Nat, old fellow, you know you don't mean that! Let's talk the whole thing over quietly together!"
"I don't want to talk it over!" shouted Nathaniel. "And don't call me old fellow! You've done enough, inviting all these people to my house, and turning it into a damned bazaar! Paper-streamers! Mistletoe! I won't have it! Next you'll want to dress up as Santa Claus! I hate Christmas, do you hear me? Loathe it! abominate it!"
"Not you, Nat!" Joseph said. "You're just an old curmudgeon, and you're upset because you didn't like young Roydon's play. Well, I didn't care for it either, if you want to know, but, my dear old chap, youth must be served!"
"Not in my house!" snarled Nathaniel. "Don't come upstairs with me! I don't want you!"
Mathilda heard him stump up the four stairs which led to the first half-landing. A crash which she had no difficulty in recognising followed. Nathaniel, she deduced, had knocked over the steps.
She strolled to the door. The steps lay on the ground, -and Joseph was tenderly assisting his brother to rise from his knees.
"My dear Nat, I'm so sorry! I'm afraid it was my fault," he said remorsefully. "I'm a careless fellow! I had meant to have finished my poor little decorations before this!"
"Take them down!" ordered Nathaniel in a strangled voice. "All of them! This instant! Clumsy jackass! My lumbago!"