She was relieved that her sisters-in-law had taken their departure without going into, or making any remark about, their late mother’s morning-room. The fact was, that these ladies disliked her so extremely that they had hurried away after each funeral as quickly as they could, compatible with usage and decency.
Her portrait by Henner was one of the most beautiful pictures in the galleries of Staghurst; but the old duke’s daughters would have preferred less loveliness and more scruples in the mother of the little boy with the soft black eyes, who was now the lawful head of their family.
Jack, meanwhile, was full of his own new position, which his mind only dimly grasped; and the whole thing puzzled him greatly. Fifteen days before they had put his grandfather in a box, and shut down the slab of stone on him, and now they were doing the same with poor pappy, who would never any more come behind him on the staircases and painfully pinch his legs, or tap a hot cigarette unexpectedly against his cheek. Why was not Harry here to make it all clear to him? He did not know that Harry, who really and profoundly mourned the dead man, had desired to come to the funeral, had entreated to be allowed to come, but had been peremptorily forbidden.
He noticed that all the people about Staghurst regarded him with awe, and the women bobbed very low in the country lanes; and the young footman who waited on him at table was very solicitous to press on him jams and candied fruits. It was the first time in his life that he had ever had as much jam as he wished for; rank has its privileges still, despite the Labor Party.
“That’s the little duke, bless his pretty face!” he had heard the women say who were respectfully gathered about the churchyard entrance to see the great people come out from the gate. And very pretty Jack did look, with his bright hair shining like new gold against his sable garments, and a look of pity and wistfulness and solemnity on his face which was touching.
“Am I really duke and all that?” he asked later of the nurse who had accompanied them to Staghurst.
She replied: “You really are, sir, yes.”
“Am I what gran’pa’ was?”
“Yes, your Grace, yes.”
He pondered deeply on the fact, standing with his legs very wide apart and his brows knitted.