“Yes, oh yes! And he had been getting worse later hadn’t he? Charmian saw a great change in him. She told me so.”
“It’s Dr Rame,” Loveday said. “Dr Lifton has the influenza.”
“Dr Rame!” Faith repeated nervously. “Oh, I would rather not see him if I needn’t! I never liked him. He’s so hard, and unsympathetic!”
“I’ll go and turn the bath on,” Loveday said, picking up the early tea-tray. “Mr Ray said if you wanted to see the doctor to send down a message.”
“Only if I must! But if he wants to speak to me of course I’ll see him! Tell Mr Ray that, Loveday!”
“You’ve no call to worry, my dear,” Loveday said soothingly.
Vivian would have remained, after she had left the room, to discuss Penhallow’s death with Faith, but Faith stopped her, saying that she could not bear to talk about it. She shrugged contemptuously, therefore, and went away.
In the dining-room, several members of the family were gathered round the table, partaking of breakfast in a desultory and ill-at-ease fashion. Clara was seated as usual at the foot of the table, dispensing coffee and tea in the intervals of sniffing into a screwed-up handkerchief: with which she from time to time wiped the corners of’ her eyes. Conrad was somewhat defiantly consuming a plateful of bacon and eggs; Aubrey, not noticeably affected by the general depression, was spreading a thin slice of toast with marmalade; and Bart, having pushed away his plate, almost untouched, was mechanically stirring his coffee, his rather reddened eyes lowered.
Neither Raymond nor Charmian was present. In response to Vivian’s inquiry, Clara replied huskily that they were both in Penhallow’s room still, with the doctor.
Vivian sat down, having helped herself to some fish from the dish on the sideboard. After a short silence, Conrad cleared his throat, and said: “I shan’t go to work today, of course.”