“I suppose so. But I shall have to ask you to feed me for a little.”
“Oh! your father won’t say no to you. He never says no to any one.”
“There’s consistency in that.”
“Your father is not the man he was. We have had terrible times, my dear. Too dreadful. The people in this town.”
“Why don’t the girls get married?” asked Serge.
“My dear,” answered his mother, “there are so few men whom one would like to see them marry.”
Mary and Gertrude returned, and just then Francis came in. Serge went up to him and kissed him, and Francis said “God bless my soul.” When he realised who it was he shook his son warmly by the hand and went on saying: “I’m glad to see you, glad to see you, glad to see you.” And he chuckled inside him and made Serge sit down, and stood looking at him, taking him in, and went on:
“Something like a prodigal son, eh, Martha? Only the queer thing is that I feel it is I who ought to say ‘I am no more worthy to be called thy father!’”
Martha protested, and they sat down to supper.
Francis sat absolutely silent at the head of the table and Martha prattled and told Serge all the family news, all the deaths, and all the contents of all the wills, especially those by which neither she nor Francis had benefited, and how Willie Folyat had won his case and become Earl of Leedham, and how Minna had been practically engaged to him once and might have been a countess but for her folly.