“Why, old man, you’ve heard me speak of him, haven’t you? Pal of mine. He came down to the station with Algy and me to meet your mater that morning.”
“Oh, that fellow? And he has been saying something about … ?”
“It isn’t only Ronny, you know,” Freddie hastened to interject. “Algy Martyn’s talking about it, too. And lots of other fellows. And Algy’s sister and a lot of people. They’re all saying …”
“What are they saying?”
Freddie bent down and chafed the back of his legs. He simply couldn’t look at Derek while he had that Lady Underhill expression on the old map. Rummy he had never noticed before how extraordinarily like his mother he was. Freddie was conscious of a faint sense of grievance. He could not have put it into words, but what he felt was that a fellow had no right to go about looking like Lady Underhill.
“What are they saying?” repeated Derek grimly.
“Well …” Freddie hesitated. “That it’s a bit tough … On Jill, you know.”
“They think I behaved badly?”
“Well … Oh, well, you know!”
Derek smiled a ghastly smile. This was not wholly due to mental disturbance. The dull heaviness which was the legacy of the Dry-Salters’ dinner had begun to change to something more actively unpleasant. A sub-motive of sharp pain had begun to run through it, flashing in and out like lightning through a thunder-cloud. He felt sullen and vicious.