He noticed that she had omitted a prefix to this last name. It annoyed him, but he said nothing. She went away, and he began to shave himself. His face was still half-covered with lather when Eugene walked in without ceremony. He met Eugene’s eyes in the mirror, and could almost have laughed at the look of chagrin so clearly depicted in them. Whoever else might regard Penhallow’s death in the light of a blessing, Eugene was one who saw in it a disturbance to his own indolent peace. He was still in his pyjamas and dressing-gown, and since he had not yet shaved, and was as darkly complexioned as his brothers, his chin had a blue appearance detrimental to his good looks.
“Ray, is this really true?” he asked.
“Good lord, you must know it’s true!” Raymond answered.
“Yes. That is, Vivian told me, but really I find it hard to take it in! It doesn’t seem at all possible. When did it happen? Have you any idea?”
“None at all. He’s cold, that’s all I can tell you.”
Eugene gave a slight shudder. “You may spare me any further details.” He looked Raymond over, his lips twisting into a wry smile. “Well, you’ve got what you’ve been waiting for, haven’t you? I congratulate you!”
Raymond wiped the soap off his razor. “Thanks.”
“It must be a great day in your life,” Eugene remarked. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown, and hunched his shoulders in the semblance of a shrug. “I suppose there isn’t anything I’m wanted to do, is there?”
“What should there be?”
“Nothing, I hope. I don’t propose to come down to breakfast. This has been a shock to me. I slept very badly, too.”