“Been doing very much lately?” he had asked Emma Gainsborough dutifully before turning his attention to Teresa who was really his object of the evening. “Seen anything new?”
“No, I don’t think I have,” the poor girl replied, instantly ill at ease. Mr. Price observed the effect he had made, and scored several marks of superiority to himself; it made him feel good-natured.
“Peewit’s brought out another book, I see,” he said, giving her another chance. “’ve you read it?”
“No,” said Emma, adding hurriedly, “I’m doing welfare just now and it takes such an awful lot of time. I’m too sleepy to read after I’ve been wading through statistics all day.”
“Welfare? Let’s see—what’s that now?” asked Mr. Price. It might possibly be something he ought to know about, though from the way Emma did her hair he thought it unlikely.
“Welfare? Oh, it is seeing about children—at least, my part is—finding out things about them and seeing what happens to them and all that; I can’t explain it, but I have been making records of imbeciles all afternoon.” Emma was reckoned a humorist in the family circle and many were the evenings when her father and mother went to bed exhausted by their laughter over things noted by her with a delicacy of perception few people would have suspected, Mr. Price less than any. His “Oh, I see. Splendid work, I’m sure, but don’t you get tired of it?” was followed by a minute’s horrid silence and then he devoted himself with a clear conscience to Teresa in the way that has been described.
Teresa’s attention was wandering to her father, who seemed to be doing very well with Mrs. Gainsborough. She wondered what they were laughing at. She caught up Mr. Price at his short pause after the Russian with the handbag.
“No, I didn’t see him,” she answered vaguely. “What was he doing? Was there anything in the bag?”
Mr. Price was not very pleased. “I don’t know. Pro’b’ly the last sponge in Russia, what? Don’t you take almonds? I shall eat them all if you don’t stop me. Oh, prihsless caat, what are you doing? come here and talk to me——” He broke off as Mrs. Gainsborough’s blue persian stood up beside him and, having pretended to extract three or four long thorns from his leg, withdrew.
“I don’t mind them one way or the other,” said Teresa, “but I want to know something. Who is the man—the last at the end opposite—by my mother?”