At these terrible words Master Nathaniel stood for a moment dizzy with horror; then he lost his head. He rushed out on to the landing, calling for Dame Marigold at the top of his voice.
"Marigold! Marigold! Marigold!"
Dame Marigold came hurrying up the stairs, calling out in a frightened voice, "What is it, Nat? Oh, dear! What is it?"
"By the Harvest of Souls, hurry! Hurry! Here's the boy saying he's been eating ... the stuff we don't mention. Suffering cats! I'll go mad!"
Dame Marigold fluttered down on Ranulph like a plump dove.
But her voice had none of the husky tenderness of a dove as she cried, "Oh, Ranulph! You naughty boy! Oh, dear, this is frightful! Nat! Nat! What are we to do?"
Ranulph shrank away from her, and cast an imploring look towards his father. Whereupon Master Nathaniel took her roughly by the shoulders and pushed her out of the room, saying, "If that is all you can say, you'd better leave the boy to me."
And Dame Marigold, as she went down the stairs, terrified, contemptuous, sick at heart, was feeling every inch a Vigil, and muttering angrily to herself, "Oh, these Chanticleers!"
We are not yet civilised enough for exogamy; and, when anything seriously goes wrong, married couples are apt to lay all the blame at its door.
Well, it would seem that the worst disgrace that could befall a family of Dorimare had come to the Chanticleers. But Master Nathaniel was no longer angry with Ranulph. What would it serve to be angry? Besides, there was this new tenderness flooding his heart, and he could not but yield to it.