Bart was at bay, only his sister supporting him in his resolve to marry Loveday. He, whose quick rages so soon blew over, had an uglier look in his eyes than Faith had ever seen there. His quarrel with Conrad was so bitter that all attempts at peace-making between them failed at the outset. The alliance which had weathered eves storm seemed to be broken past repair. When Bart had entered the room in time to hear Conrad casting the blame of Penhallow’s death on to Loveday, he had flung himself on to his twin with murder in his heart. It had taken all Logan’s and the Sergeant’s combined strength to hold him, when they had dragged him off Conrad’s throat; and such terrible words had been spoken then as would not easily be forgotten.
Clara shook her head sadly over it, and said that there seemed to be no end to the troubles besetting the house.
“"They’ll make it up,” Faith said uneasily. “They always make it up, Clara!”
“I never knew them quarrel like that before,” Clara replied. “You see, my dear, they aren’t easy to handle, the Penhallows, and there’s no one to hold them now Adam’s gone. I never knew anyone to drive a difficult team better than he did. Well, he’s dropped the reins, poor soul, and it’s a runaway team now, that’ll very likely overturn us all into the ditch.”
“Raymond — Raymond will take his father’s place!”
“Raymond doesn’t want to take his father’s place, my clear. Raymond’s a skirter, just as Char said. He wants to be rid of them, that’s all.”
“Clara,” Faith said desperately, “wouldn’t it be better for them to be free? To make their own lives?”
“It’s no good asking’ me, my dear. I’m a Penhallow, and it’s a bitter day to me that sees the family breakin’ up. I don’t say they haven’t had their quarrels, but they’ve always stuck together.”
When the family met at lunch-time, an uneasy tension seemed to hang over them. Bart sat silent, his eyes lowered and his brow thunderous; Conrad’s sore spirit found relief in the utterance of bitter jibes at the expense of anyone who offered him the smallest opening. This had the effect of arousing Eugene’s animosity, and led to several passages of arms between them. Eugene, aggrieved by the disturbance to his peace, sensitive to any fancied aspersion cast at Vivian, and deeply chagrined by the news, clumsily conveyed to him by Clifford, that his portion amounted only to four thousand pounds, was in a querulous, spiteful mood ready to pick a quarrel with anyone. Vivian looked white and strained, and, choosing to read covert accusations into quite innocent remarks, had adopted a defiant attitude calculated to provoke hostilities. Clay afforded his brothers an opportunity of venting their feelings at his head by pointing out, with wearisome insistence, that it was absurd to suppose that he could have had anything to do with his father’s death. Charmian, ignoring the bickering and the sudden spurts of temper, held forth in an argumentative tone on the various aspects of Penhallow’s murder until Raymond, who until then had maintained his usual taciturnity, rounded on her, and bade her hold her tongue. As he enforced this command by bringing his fist down on the table with considerable force, all the glasses jumped, and Faith gave one of her nervous starts.
“Naughty temper!” said Aubrey. “Is it getting on your nerves, Ray dear? Personally, I adore listening to Char laying down the law, and telling us how the deed was done, because she’s almost certainly wrong, and I do like people to make fools of themselves, don’t you?”