"Actually, Mummy says I simply live on my nerves," Valerie confided.
"You haven't a nerve in your whole insensate body!" said Paula, with shattering effect.
Valerie had never sustained such an insult in her life. She flushed poppy-red; her eyes flashed becomingly, and it seemed as though the tension was to be relieved by a very satisfying exchange of personalities between the two ladies.
Sturry came back into the room to announce dinner. The quarrel petered out; and Nathaniel's guests filed out of the room in depressed silence.
Sturry had swept away the knives and forks from Nathaniel's place at the head of the table. This vacancy struck everyone immediately, and brought his death suddenly and foolishly nearer. Joseph was inspired to exclaim: "It will seem strange to me, and melancholy, to see another in Nat's place. It must come: I know it, and I shall accept it bravely, but I can't help feeling glad that for just this one evening I see only Nat's empty chair."
No comment seemed to be required; indeed, it would have been impossible for anyone except Stephen, Mathilda reflected, to have made any. Half expecting him to utter some blistering remark, she glanced across the table towards him. A wryness about his mouth informed her that the tactlessness of the reminder had not gone unobserved, but he gave no other sign of having heard Joseph.
Joseph whispered: "Help me, Tilda! We must be natural! We must try not to let this horror get on top of us."
What he hoped she might be able to do she had no idea. An attempt to inaugurate a conversation upon any offer subject than Nathaniel's death would be regarded as callous, and must fail. She began to drink her soup, ignoring Joseph.
Valerie, growing momently more temperamental, refused soup, saying that it seemed awful to be sitting at dinner with Mr. Herriard dead upstairs.
"You don't drink soup because you think it's bad for your figure. You told us so," said Paula.