Henry possessed a persevering nature. He produced, in rapid succession, a remark about the weather, an inquiry as to the productiveness of the kitchen garden, and a comment upon the pleasant warmth of the log fire. The first and last of these efforts elicited no reply at all. To the question about the garden produce Lady Heritage answered that she had no idea.
Mr. Ember’s habitual expression of cynicism became a trifle more marked.
Jane had the feeling that the pressure in the atmosphere was steadily on the increase.
“Won’t you sing something, Raymond,” said Henry. His pleasant ease of manner appeared quite impervious to snubs.
Lady Heritage closed the Revue des Deux Mondes and, for the first time, looked full at Captain March. If he was startled by the furious resentment of that gaze he did not show it.
“And what do you expect me to sing, Henry?” she said—“the latest out of the Jazz Girls?”
“I don’t mind; whatever you like, but do sing, won’t you?”
Raymond got up with an abrupt movement. Walking to one of the long windows which opened upon the terrace, she drew the heavy yellow brocade curtain back with a jerk. Beyond the glass the terrace lay in deepest shadow, but moonlight touched the sea. She bent, drew the bolt, and opened half the door.
“The room is stifling,” she said. “Jeffrey, it’s your fault they pile the fire up so. I wish you’d sometimes look at a calendar and realise that this is April, not January.”
Then, turning, she crossed to the piano.