"Well, Peter? Well?"
Peter turned round from the window, and Hilary started at his face.
"My dear boy, what on earth is the matter?"
Then Peggy came in, her eyes full of dismayed vexation, but laughter twitching at her lips.
"Oh, my dears! What a mood they're in! Lord Evelyn looked at me to destroy me—and Lucy crying as if she'd never stop; I tried to make her take some sal volatile, but he wouldn't let her, but wisked her into her carriage and shut the door in my face. Mercy, what temper!"
The last words may not have had exclusive reference to Lord Evelyn, as Peggy was now looking at Peter in some astonishment and alarm. When Peter looked angry, everyone was so surprised that they wanted to take his temperature and send him to bed. Peggy would have liked to do that now, but really didn't dare.
What had come to the child, she wondered?
"What did they talk about, Peter? A funny thing their coming within half an hour of each other like that, wasn't it. And I never thought to see Lord Evelyn here, I must say. Now I wonder why was Lucy crying and he so cross?"
Peter left her to wonder that, and said merely, "Once for all, I won't have it. You shall not beg for money and bring my name into it. It's—it's horrid."
With a weak, childish word his anger seemed to explode and die away. After all, no anger of Peter's could last long. And somehow, illogically, his anger here was more with the Urquharts than with the Margerisons and most with Lucy. One is, of course, most angry, with those who have most power to hurt.