“I expect the capacity for unlimited port is hereditary. Weren’t all our ancestors, three-bottle men?” said Norah, composedly, tiding over the situation.
“The doctors all say my back is owing to that—gouty tendencies, you know,” assisted Mrs. Atterton.
And everybody felt immensely relieved to get down to Mrs. Atterton’s back from the emotional heights where they had stood during the past three minutes.
For it had been evident, even to young Bill, that Mrs. Stamford was saying a Magnificat as plainly as ever a Hebrew woman did in the days of old. And no mother ever rejoiced in the birth of a new life with a greater ecstasy of joy and thankfulness, than did Mrs. Stamford, in this beginning of a new life for her son. It seemed, after all the hidden suspense and agony of mind, as if he had been born again to her. She was so certain he would settle down to be all she had hoped and dreamed, when he was once married to Elizabeth.
And Mrs. Atterton had never known any harm of Dick save that he was, at one time, like other young fellows, a little wild. So his exemplary behaviour of late had quite disarmed both her and Mr. Atterton, and they were inclined to admire the honourable way in which he had kept the spirit as well as the letter of the arrangement come to a year ago.
And Norah was glad for her sister to be mistress of such a fine historical place as Gaythorpe Manor, and greatly relieved that there was now no danger of her becoming the wife of a country parson; while Bill was pleased to think ‘good old Elizabeth’ would remain, as it were, a part of home, with excellent shooting to offer in addition to her present virtues, and a five-pound note ever at the service of a brother who always seemed to run short of money at critical moments.
So everybody was pleased, and there was so much unspoken congratulation in the atmosphere that poor Andy felt rather choked with it by the time he got away.
But before he was really out of the house he encountered Dick Stamford, who had motored round by Bardswell, and who bore in his hands a bunch of flowers and an immense box of chocolates tied with pink ribbons.
The two young men passed with a nod and a muttered “Good morning,” but Stamford stopped a second later, turned back, and said with some effort, “Jolly morning. Cold, though. Frost in the air.”
“Yes. Beautiful flowers you’ve got,” said Andy, equally uncomfortable, and speaking at random. “Chocolates, too.”