“Roger always was generous to us, he was the soul of generosity, and he was prospering as steadily as his father had. And Janet was kind, too. She and Roger sometimes went away for weeks and left the two little boys with us, and I remember more than once Roger telling me that it was only my influence that kept his brother Will straight at all.
“Will was like many a young man in those times. He would have a position for a while, give it up for different reasons, drink and gamble and idle for a while, and be persuaded into another position again. It wasn’t considered disgraceful then. He was a sweet, good-natured sort of fellow—he would spend weeks here at Wastewater, perfectly willing to idle about with Lily and Janet and me, and the babies—for David was hardly more!—and to have a little pocket money from Roger. And then he would go over to Keyport or Crowchester and be there whole days—drinking and playing poker——”
Sylvia drew a quick, sharp breath.
“You mustn’t judge your father too harshly,” Flora whispered, moving her troubled eyes to her daughter’s face. “Nowadays it sounds far worse than it did then. Almost every family had such a son, and frequently you would hear even mothers laughing as they said that it was time for Dick or Jack to marry and settle down.
“Afterward, Will would be two or three days sick in bed,” the droning, weary voice presently resumed, “and Roger would talk to him so kindly, begging him to pull himself together and get a new start. And then Roger would find him a new position, and Will would come down to dinner, rested and shaved and well dressed and in high spirits, telling us all how rich he was going to be!
“So I tried to make myself indispensable, and I hoped and hoped that Lily would marry—marry Will or anybody, as a sort of justification for my remaining single. I looked out for you boys’ wardrobes, mothered Will, managed their parties—managed the servants.
“Your mother, Janet, went to the opera with your father one night,” she added, opening her eyes to look at David and Tom, “and a day or two later he telegraphed me from New York that, as she was not well, he would keep her there until it was safe to bring her home. That was a snowy Sunday afternoon. I remember that Will and Lily and I played games with you little fellows, put you to bed ourselves—it was almost as if we knew that you were not to see your mother again.
“The days went by: you went back to school——and I knew—I knew all the time that it was the end! Ten days later your Mother died, and the day after her funeral Roger went away—where, I never knew. He was gone for weeks, came home, would burst out into bitter crying at the table, walk up and down the garden like a madman, and be off again.
“One day, about six or seven weeks after Janet’s death, he said to me, in a dark, moody sort of tone: ‘Flo, how long am I to wear mourning—outside? Inside,’ he said, passionately, ‘I shall mourn her all my life!’
“‘A year,’ I told him.