Alban stared at his sister with that hard look which sometimes came into his eyes, as Bertram knew. But he answered icily, after a moment’s hesitation:
“Don’t let’s have an altercation, or get down to personalities. Four thousand is not too much for my position. I’m extremely economical. I might remind you that father settled two thousand a year on yourself. What about that?”
Joyce spoke in a low voice.
“I’d cut every penny of it to save Holme Ottery.”
Alban leaned back in his chair, regarding his finger-nails, and laughed more amiably.
“Heroic, and all that, but utterly useless, little sister. Besides, what about your own home? Bertram isn’t making a fortune just now.”
“He’ll have to get a job,” said Joyce.
So the attack had come round to Bertram now. He was to be made responsible, perhaps, for the necessity of selling Holme Ottery! Perhaps, after further conversation, he might be accused of instigating the Strike, and would be saddled with the sins of the Government!
“I don’t think I’ll get dragged into this family discussion,” he said, with a desperate effort to be patient and calm. “Anyhow, it’s time to dress for dinner. Coming, Joyce?”
“Presently,” said Joyce. He didn’t wait for her, and went up to his own room on the north side of the gallery, and having shut the door with a bang, sat down on the bed with his knees hunched up and his face in his hands.