“Drinking, I suppose,” said Charmian. “If that’s Indian tea, Aunt Clara, none for me. I brought a packet of Lapsang down with me, and handed it to Reuben as I came in, with instructions to Sybilla to make it in a china pot, and not in a metal one.”
“Heaven bless you, darling!” said Aubrey. “I forgot the tea question. Oh, just look at Eugene, ruining his digestion with that dreadful stuff Eugene, how imprudent of you!”
“If you imagine that Sybilla’s likely to make two separate lots of tea, you’ve probably got another guess coming to you,” observed Raymond. “You’d better forget that kind of affectation while you’re here. We’ve always had Indian tea, and we’re not likely to change.”
“I have no patience with people who allow themselves to be tyrannised over by old servants,” Charmian said forcefully. “This house has been crying out for someone to manage it for years. Faith, of course, is hopelessly inefficient; and Clara isn’t the housewifely type; but I must say, Vivian, I did hope that you might have pulled things together. You can’t have anything else to do. That rug needs darning, and I should say no one has polished the fender since I was last here.”
“It is not my house, and I’ve no interest in it whatsoever,” said Vivian coldly.
“In saying that I fervently trust that your visit is not to be of long duration, dear Char, I feel that I speak as the mouthpiece of us all,” said Eugene, giving his cup-and-saucer to Vivian. “No, not any more, darling: my appetite — such as it ever was — has been destroyed. But I must add, in fairness to Char, that Aubrey’s socks had as much to do with that as her east-wind personality.”
Aubrey gave a little shriek. “Cruel wretch! My lovely socks! Poems in silk, no less! How can you, Eugene?”
“They — and you -’ said Eugene, closing his eyes, “make me feel as though perhaps I should go to bed before dinner.”
“My dear, how too interesting!” Aubrey said, quite unruffled. “Antipathies and inhibitions! They say antipathies are always reciprocated, but I don’t think they can be, because I haven’t the least antipathy towards you. I adore being with you. There’s a fundamental likeness between us which always makes me say to myself: "There, but for the grace of God, goes Aubrey Penhallow.”
“Damned young puppy!” growled Ingram. “You want kicking more than anyone I ever met!”