“Will you go away, Mr Clay, before you drive your mother out of her mind with your chatter?” said Loveday, with considerable asperity.
He looked a good deal offended, but since his mother paid no heed to him he withdrew, after a moment’s hesitation. Faith lay quite still, her eyes fixed and haunted, her hand tightly grasping Loveday’s. Loveday remained beside her until the sound of hasty strides on the gravel drive outside made her lift her head, and listen intently. She disengaged her hand gently, and went over to the window, and looked down. “It’s Bart,” she said. “I must go down. He’ll be needing me.”
“Oh, don’t leave me!” Faith begged.
“It’s Bart,” Loveday repeated. “I must go. I’ll come back in a little while.”
She crossed to the door, and went out, softly closing it behind her.
Bart had entered the house, and flung his riding-whip on to the table. Conrad came quickly out of the Yellow drawing-room, and started towards him, catching him by the arms in a hard grip. “Twin! Twin, don’t!” he said rather thickly. “For God’s sake, Bart!”
Bart threw him off violently. “Leave me alone, can’t you?” he said, with suppressed passion. “Keep off, damn you! I’ve got nothing to say to you!”
Ingram, who had followed Conrad out of the drawing room, tried to intervene. “Come, old chap, you mustn’t give way! I know it’s been a shock, and all that, but—”
“Get to hell out of my way!” Bart shot out, white as a sheet. “A fat lot you care! A fat lot any of you care!”
“Bart-love!”