“It’s a very beautiful, healthy neighbourhood, and I think it’s a splendid notion of Fay’s. I’m proud of her idea.”
Lady Currey was crumpling up her eyebrows when Gilbert called out to Claudia. He wanted a book fetched from the library. Claudia never attempted to be too sympathetic with him, nor did she proffer any, even friendly, caresses. Gilbert had made it so plain that he merely considered her as a useful secretary. His father was getting old and his son was sometimes impatient with his slow brain; his mother was—his mother, but she could never be trusted to find a book or look anything up for him. But Claudia was quick and practical, and he never had to explain anything twice.
After she had fetched the book she lingered irresolutely by his chair. His hair was going very grey, and his body had grown heavy and flabby, but in the face he looked much healthier. His skin was a better colour, and the circles round his eyes less pronounced. His nerves were distinctly less ragged, he was beginning to sleep quite well, and the cardiac symptoms had not shown themselves for some time.
“Gilbert,” she said, “Colin Paton is coming down on Sunday.... Why have you not wanted to see him? He was awfully kind at Le Touquet. Have you ever properly thanked him?”
He did not look up from the book, but she saw that he had been listening.
“Oh! I think I did. Besides, didn’t you thank him? You and he are great friends.”
“Do you complain of that?” How beautiful the leaves of the copper beech were under the sun. The grass at their feet was flecked by little jumping shadows, as the slight wind ruffled the branches.
“No. I have every trust in Colin.”
Claudia gave a sharp exclamation, and threw up her head. “What do you mean by that, Gilbert? Isn’t that an extraordinary statement to make about your friend?”
He still kept the book open. She saw that it was a book on Trades Unions.