“She’s got Eugene, if that’s what you mean!”
“Is she starting a baby by any chance?” inquired Charmian, who was sitting with both elbows on the table, and her coffee-cup held between her hands.
Clara rubbed her nose. “Well, she hasn’t said anythin’ about it to me,” she said doubtfully. “Of course, that isn’t to say she isn’t, and it would account for her comin’ over squeamish, I daresay.”
“Oh, no!” said Aubrey imploringly. “Oh, Char darling, you don’t really think so, do you? I mean, what with Father being quite too gross for words, and the twins so terribly, terribly hearty, I don’t think I can bear any more! Shall you stay here for a whole week? I’m nearly sure I shan’t. It’s all so primitive, and vulgar, and I find that I definitely lack the herd-instinct, without which I quite see that it’s practically impossible to feel at home here.”
“Well, that’s something, anyway!” retorted Conrad, getting up from the table. “Considering that you affect the rest of us like a pain in the neck, the sooner you clear out the better!”
“Now, that’s enough!” Clara said mildly. “What with your father on the rampage, and now Vivian, we can’t do with any more nonsense.”
Conrad grimaced at her, and went away, but any hopes she or others might have entertained of spending the eve of Penhallow’s birthday in comparative peace were effectually put an end to, first by the discovery that Vivian was prolonging her attack of hysteria in the library; and next by the antics of Penhallow, who, as soon as he had recovered in some measure from the effects of Raymond’s assault upon him, proceeded to make his presence more than usually felt in the house. Knowing nothing of his father’s unpropitious mood, Clay was inspired to address an appeal to him, having nerved himself to take this desperate step by walking about the gardens for several hours, and rehearsing a convincing speech. Filial respect and manly determination were the predominant notes in the speech, as rehearsed, but since he was destined never to utter more than the opening phrases all his trouble was wasted. The very sight of his pallid countenance, nervously bobbing Adam’s apple, and unquiet hands exasperated Penhallow. He had always done what lay in his power to inspire his sons with dread of him, and had heartily despised any one of them who seemed to show that he had succeeded. Confronted by Clay, who was obviously terrified of him, and as obviously preparing to recite a set speech, he gave the fullest rein to his ill-humour, speedily reducing that unfortunate youth to a condition of stammering imbecility, tearing his character to shreds, trampling brutally over the tenderest spots in his sensibility, and dismissing him finally with a promise to take such steps as were requisite to turn him into a worthy member of the Penhallow family.
Emerging from his father’s room in a much shaken state, Clay fell into the arms of his half-sister, whom he encountered in the hall, and who promptly walked him out into the garden, and endeavoured, with the best possible motives, to instil resolution and self-reliance into him. But as he was of the type that responds only to encouragement mingled with a good deal of flattery, her methods, which were at once bracing and scornful, inspired him with nothing more than a desire to escape from her, coupled with a strong conviction that she did not understand him. He fled to his mother, and unburdened himself to her with so little reserve that it was not long before he had plunged her into a state of even greater desperation than his own.
Having passed one of her restless nights, Faith was late in coming downstairs. The hour which Clay had spent in her room had left her with a throbbing head; she felt her chief need was to be quiet, and was well aware that such a commodity was not to be found under the existing circumstances at Trevellin. The house seemed to teem with persons all more or less inimical to her; and as though it were not enough to find Eugene toying with an idea for an essay in the Yellow drawing-room, his wife viciously smoking cigarettes in the library, Clara mending stockings in the morning-room, and Charmian conducting an argumentative literary discussion with Aubrey in the hall, Myra had walked up from the Dower House to discover what plans had been made for Penhallow’s birthday party on the morrow. Myra had been in to see Penhallow, and gave it as her opinion that he was looking wonderful. As she had very little interest in anything beyond the walls of her own home, she hardly ever came into collision with her father-in-law, a circumstance which enabled her to face the thought of his amazing vitality with perfect equanimity.
“I always say,” she remarked brightly, “that he’ll see us all out! Of course, all the Penhallows are long-lived, aren’t they? I’m sure everyone thought his grandfather would die years and years before he did. He had everything in the world the matter with him, too. Of course, his father died young, but that was only because of a hunting accident.”