“Yes,” said Katherine.
Henry, hearing her voice, looked across at her and then dropped his eyes upon his plate.
She seemed herself again. Had her letter made her happy? With a sudden start he realised that Millie also was watching her....
“Well, it must have been about 1900 that Mr. Redpath went to Scarborough. I remember it was the year before that dreadful wet school treat here, when we didn’t know where to put all the children. I know the year after he went there poor Mrs. Redpath died and left him with all those little children—”
Just at that moment Philip came in. He came with the spray of the sea still wet upon his cheeks, his hair shining with it. His colour flaming, his eyes on fire. He had been, in the wind and darkness, down the Rafiel Road to the point above Tredden Cove where the sea broke inland. Here, deafened by the wind, blinded by the night, the sea-mist, now lashing his face, now stroking it softly with gentle fingers, he had stood on the edge of the world and heard the waters that are beyond the world exult in their freedom and scorn for men. He, too, standing there, had had scorn for himself. He had seen Katherine’s eyes as she turned from him in the garden, he had seen his own wretched impatience and temper and selfishness. “By heaven,” he thought, as he strode back, “I’ll never be so contemptible again. I’ll make them all trust me and like me. As for Katherine ...” and so he burst in upon them, without even brushing his hair first. Also, the only vacant chair was next to Aunt Aggie....
Aunt Betty, who thought that Philip’s entry had been a little violent and abrupt, felt that she had better cover it with the continuation of her story.
“And so the next year Mr. Redpath married again—quite a young woman. I never saw her, but Nelly Hickling knew her quite well. She always said that she reminded her of Clara Foster. You know, Harriet, the younger one with the dark hair and pretty eyes.”
But Philip had looked across at Katherine, her eyes had met his, and very faintly, as it were secretly, she smiled: the whirl of that encounter had hidden Aunt Betty’s voice from him. He did not know that he was interrupting her.
“It was a good walk, and it’s raining like anything. The sea was coming in over the Cove like thunder.”
No one answered him, and he realised suddenly that all the food was cold. No matter: he was used to Sunday supper by this time, and he was of a ferocious hunger. “Lots of beef, please,” he said, with a laugh.