Whiteoaks of Jalna: A Novel

XIX

WAKEFIELD scented excitement in the air from the moment when he first opened his eyes. There was something in the way the window curtains swelled in the breeze that made him think of the bellying of sails. There was something unusual in the smell of the air, as though it had come from a long way off, a different country, full of strange adventure.

He thought he would see what time it was, for he did not wish to spend too much of his day in meditation. He went to the dressing table where, among Renny’s rather meagre toilet articles, lived the alarm clock. It was twenty minutes to ten. There would be little left of breakfast to tempt one of wayward appetite. He opened Renny’s top drawer, and there, among the neat rows of ties and mounds of handkerchiefs, he discovered a small tin box marked ‘Chest and Lung Tablets.’ These were richly flavored with licorice, and, while not large in bulk, might be counted on to stay one until something more intriguing than half-cold porridge and tepid tea turned up.

He laid one on his tongue, and, when he had got into his clothes, dropped a few more into a pocket of his knickers. His ablutions were a miracle of producing the most pleasing effect with the least effort. However, he spent a good deal of time on his hair, for he had found that its sleekness invariably produced a favorable impression on his elders, with the exception of Piers, who took delight in rubbing it the wrong way.

He was about to go downstairs when he heard the peculiar bubbly cooing by which young Maurice was wont to express his pleasure in the morn. He glided to the door of Pheasant’s room and looked in. No one was there save the infant, sitting on a quilt on the floor, sucking something out of his bottle. When he saw Wakefield he kicked convulsively and took the bottle from his lips, a waggish smile widening his mouth, showing all his pearl-like teeth.

‘Nug-nug! Ee-ee! Nug-nug!’

‘Hello, Mooey!’ returned Wakefield, kindly. ‘Glad to see your old uncle, are n’t you?’

‘Nug-nug! Brrrr!’ bubbled Mooey, and replaced the nipple in his mouth. He sucked energetically, the muscles in his lip quivering. his eyes turned slightly toward his nose.

Wakefield took him under the arms and raised him to his feet. Mooey stamped his bare soles energetically on the quilt, but the bottle fell from his grasp and a shadow troubled his pink brow. His motto was ‘One thing at a time, and that done thoroughly.’ This promenading in the middle of a drink confused him.

‘ Ba!’ he declared, trying to see his uncle’s face. ‘Bub-bub-bub!’

Wakefield walked him the length of the room between his knees. ‘Nice walk,’he said, dictatorially. ‘Bad old bottle.’

But Mooey was of a different opinion. There, on the quilt, lay his bottle, still half full of delicious sweetened water, and here was he, leagues away, held by two viselike hands, while tweed-knickered legs and leather brogues imprisoned him on either side.

‘Ha-ha-ha-ha!’ he cried, but his ‘ha’ was of lamentation, not mirth.

‘Hush,’ said Wakefield, sternly, ‘or you’ll have your mother fussing about! What’s the matter with you? Why don’t you step out and learn to walk when I’m taking all this trouble with you? Do you know what’s likely to get you, if you ’re naughty? Well, a big wolf is, and gobble you right up.’

Happily Mooey was unable to take in the import of this dire possibility, but when he threw back his head, and looked up into Wakefield’s face, he saw something in that smooth, alive visage that brought tears welling into his eyes, and made him raise his voice in a despairing wail. Wakefield propelled him to the door and balanced himself on one leg while he shut it with his foot. He then returned Mooey to his quilt, on which he dropped him so precipitately that the infant’s faculties were occupied, for the moment, in recovering his balance.

Wakefield picked up the bottle and shook it. He removed the nipple and tasted the insipid fluid. At this sight, an expression so outraged came into Mooey’s wet eyes that Wakefield was moved to reassure him.

‘Can’t you trust your uncle?’ he asked. ‘You’re very much mistaken if you think I want any of this beastly stuff. And if you were n’t such a little fathead you’d never let them put you off with it! Now I’m going to give you something really nice. And it’s good for you, too, ’specially as you sound sort of wheezy.’

Mooey made noises indicative of a broken spirit, and watched Wakefield fascinated as he took two of the Chest and Lung Tablets from his pocket and dropped them into the bottle. He placed his palm on the opening and shook the bottle vigorously. It took the tablets some time to dissolve, but at last the water took on a dark, rather poisonous color, and Wakefield assumed that sufficient of the medicinal quality of the tablets had been absorbed. He replaced the nipple and put the bottle into the outstretched hands of his nephew.

‘There you are, my boy!’ he said, heartily, and a benevolent smile curved his lips as he observed the gusto with which Mooey returned to his drink.

He was not a Boy Scout. He had not the physical strength to take part in Scout enterprises. However, he liked the idea of beginning each day with a kind act. He was one whom it would be impossible to hamper by sectarianism, but who, nevertheless, was willing to take something of good from any creed.

He descended the stairs lightly.

In the hall below he was interested to see that Rags had just let someone in at the front door. It was Mr. Patton, Grandmother’s lawyer. He carried his brief bag, and, as Rags divested him of his coat, he gave Wakefield a pleasant but rather nervous smile.

‘Good morning,’ he said, ‘and how are you? ’

‘Thank you, sir,’answered Wakefield, ‘I’m as well as can be expected, after all I’ve gone through.’

He had heard Aunt Augusta make this same remark to Mrs. Fennel the day before, and he saw no reason why a remark so fraught with mournful dignity should not serve for any member of the family.

Mr. Patton looked at him sharply. ‘H’m,’ he said, dryly. ‘I suppose so. Well, well.’

Aunt Augusta appeared in the doorway of the sitting room. She held out her hand to Mr. Patton, and Wakefield saw that almost all the family was gathered in the sitting room. Uncle Nicholas sat in an armchair in a corner, filling his pipe; Uncle Ernest was by a window, nervously rubbing the nails of one hand against the palm of the other. Piers and Renny stood together talking, and Mr. Patton was barely inside when Meg and Maurice arrived. Meg was carrying her infant daughter, Patience. Wakefield was consumed by curiosity. He was also humiliated to find that a family conclave had reached such a point as this without his knowledge.

Finch came along the hall, rather more sheepish than usual, and he too made toward the door of the sitting room. Wakefield caught his arm.

‘What is it?’ he asked, eagerly. ‘What are they up to?’

‘The will. Patton’s going to read the will.’

‘The will? Oh! Then we’ll know who’s going to he the heir, shan’t we?’

‘Shut up,’ whispered Finch, and pushed past him.

But Wake was not to be put off so easily. He followed Finch into the sitting room and drew up a chair beside Mr. Patton where he sat at the square table, with some papers spread before him.

Mr. Patton looked at him over his glasses.

‘ I don’t think the child should be allowed to stay,’ said Aunt Augusta.

‘Of course he should n’t,’ agreed Piers.

‘Wake, darling.’ said Meg, joggling Patience on her knee, ‘run along and feed your rabbits.’

Wakefield did not demur, but he hitched his chair a little nearer the table and pushed Aunt Augusta’s bottle of smelling salts within reach of Mr. Patton, in case of need.

’Put that child out.’ growled Nicholas from his corner, pointing at Wake with his pipe. ‘I don’t see — ’ began Penny, but Piers took the little boy by the arm and put him into the hall.

He stood there ruffled, like a young robin pushed from the nest, looking at the door so inexorably shut against him.

‘ I wonder how* long it will take,’ he said to Rags.

‘It’ll take some time,’ replied Rags, dusting the mirror of the hatrack; and he added sarcastically, ’I expect you’ll ’ave time to order yerself a new touring car, in case you’re the old lidy’s heir.’

‘There isn’t any “in case,”’ said Wakefield, on a sudden impulse. ’I am.’

‘Of course you are!’ jeered Rags. ‘Sime as I won the Calcutter Sweepstikes! We’ll go araound the world on a tour together.’

‘It’s all very well to laugh,’ returned Wakefield, gravely, ‘but it’s the truth! She told me so herself, not long before she died.’

Rags gaped at him, duster in hand. He could not help being impressed. ‘ Well, if wot you s’y is true, them in there will get the surprise of their lives.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Wakefield, ‘and they ’ll feel meaner after shutting me out and all.’

‘I wish I knew if you’re telling the truth.’

‘You’ll know* soon enough.’

Wakefield went out into the morning. He sauntered along the flower border, brilliant with marigolds, zinnias, and asters. Bright cobwebs veiled the cedar hedge where the sun had not yet struck. A birch tree was letting fall little yellow leaves into the moist green of the lawn.

What should he do to pass the time until the reading of the will was over? This was an important hour in his life, he felt, and should be spent in no trivial fashion. He began to feel qualms of hunger, but the thought of reentering the house was intolerable to him. The blue and gold of the morning, the little breezes that skipped about like young lambs, the spaciousness of open air, were necessary to his mood. He strolled, hands in pockets, to the back of the house, and there came upon a tub set beneath an eave, full of rain water. He squatted beside it, peering at his reflection, darkly bright in the water. So looked the heir to the Whiteoak millions! He lengthened his face, trying to make his nose into a Court nose, and when it began to ache from the strain he eased it with a hideous grimace or two.

The sight of these grimaces reflected made him burst out laughing, and a tiny cockerel, which had followed him, responded with a boastful crow.

‘What have you to crow about?’ asked Wakefield. ‘If you were me, you might crow. What are you heir to, I’d like to know? A dirty old nest, and a worm or two. Do you know what I am? I’m heir to the Wlnteoak millions, and it’ll pay you to crow when I tell you to, and not before!'

The cockerel looked at him so hard that it turned its head almost upside down. Its bright amber eye glittered with greed.

Then in the rain water Wakefield discovered a black beetle half-drowned, lying on its back, only a feeble kicking of the legs showing it to be still alive. He picked a blade of grass and with it steered the beetle round the tub. A dear little boat making a tour of the world. He made it call at various ports — Gibraltar, Suez, Ceylon, Penang. How he loved these names in his geography lessons with Mr. Fennel! Lucky, lucky beetle!

Alas! Just as they reached Shanghai, it sank. Rather ungrateful of it. Not many Canadian beetles bad a chance to go to Shanghai!

He peered down at it, lying on its back in the depths of the tub. It must be rescued. He pushed up his sleeve and put his slender brown arm into the water, found the beetle, and laid it right side up in the sunshine. He lay down beside it, watching with satisfaction the slow but sure return to life. It was his second kind act that morning!

His cup was full. But not his stomach! It seemed hard that he, heir to the Whiteoak millions, should go empty.

He crouched before a window of the basement kitchen and peered down into the twilight depths below. He could see Mrs. Wragge kneading dough, her large red fists pounding it so vigorously that one could not help wondering whether it might not hurt the dough. Bessie, the kitchenmaid, was paring vegetables in a corner, her hair in her eyes. Rags, cigarette in mouth, was cleaning knives, dipping the cork first in a little puddle of water on the knifeboard, then in a small mound of Bath brick, before he angrily furbished the blades, Rags was always angry when he was in the basement. No matter how cool his temper might be above, it rose to boiling point as he clattered down the stairs. No, Wakefield did not want his breakfast from that galley!

He ran across the fields, climbed the sagging rail fence, and was on the road. Soon he was opposite the door of the blacksmith shop, between its tall elms. John Chalk, the smith, was shoeing a gray farm horse. He glanced at Wake from under his shaggy brows, and went on hammering the shoe.

When he dropped the hoof, and straightened his back, Wakefield remarked, ‘My pony’s cast that last shoe yon put on her.’

‘That’s queer,’ said Chalk. ‘ Are you sure it was that one? She’d no right to cast that one so soon.’

Wake looked at him dubiously. ‘Had n’t she? I had my doubts of it when you put it on. I thought it was a very queer-looking job.’

Chalk glared. ‘I like your cheek! There was never a shoe better put on than that shoe, and I’d like you to know ii!’

Wakefield folded his arms. ‘I don’t want,’ he said, ‘to take my custom from you.’

‘You and your custom!’ bawled the blacksmith. ‘You and your one little pony that I could pick up under my arm like a sheep! Take it away, and be darned to you. I guess I can make ends meet without it!’ He wiped his brow with a blackened hand.

‘Well,’ said Wake, ‘if it only was one pony you might be snifty! But it’ll likely be a whole string of race horses before long. You see, I’m the heir to the — my grandmamma’s money.’

‘A likely story,’ jeered Chalk. ‘The old lady ’ud never leave it to a little whippersnapper like you!’

‘That’s just why she did it. She knew I needed it — what with my weak heart and all. I’ve known it for a long time, but the family’s just finding it out this morning.’

Chalk regarded him with mingled admiration and disapproval. ‘Well, if that’s true, and you’ve got the old lady’s money, I pity them, for of all the high-cockalorum, head-up-and-tail-over-the-dashboard young rascals I ever set eyes on, you’re the worst.’ He began to hammer so loudly on his anvil that further conversation was impossible. Though fast friends, their intercourse was often stormy.

Wakefield let the smith feel the weight of his gaze for a few moments, before he moved on with dignity along the straggling street. At the Wigles’ cottage he stopped. Muriel, as usual, was swinging on the gate. He brought it to a standstill so abruptly that the little girl fell off. Before she could begin to cry, Wakefield took her by the hand and said, ‘Come along, Muriel. I’m going to take you with me for a treat.’

The door of the cottage opened and Mrs. Wigle stuck out her head.

‘Muriel!’ she called. ‘Don’t you dare leave the yard! Come back here this instant moment!’

‘But he’th taking me out for a treat!’ whined Muriel. ‘I want to go out for a treat! ’

‘Treat nothing,’ retorted her mother. ‘The last time he took you out for a treat you came home in rags and tatters. Treats may be fun for him, but he ain’t going to take my daughter to ’em!’

Wakefield listened to this tirade with a reproachful air.

‘Mrs. Wigle,’ he said, ‘it wasn’t my fault that Muriel fell in the stream, and the old sheep tossed her about, and the burrs got in her hair. I did what I could to save her. But I’d forgotten the sheep’s name, and she won’t come for any other name but her own. You see, all our animals have names, we make such pets of them.’

Mrs. Wigle came down the path, her arms rolled in her apron. She looked somewhat mollified.

‘Where did you plan to take her this morning?’ she asked.

‘Only to Mrs. Brawn’s shop to buy her something nice to eat.’

‘Well, fetch her straight back here afterward. And there’s one thing I wish you’d tell me. Have you ever heard your brother say aught about mending my roof? It leaks into the best room like all possessed every time it rains.’

Wakefield knitted his slender black brows. ‘I’ve never heard him say a single word about it, Mrs. Wigle. He does n’t seem to mind what roof leaks so long as the stable roof does n’t. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do — I’ll mend your roof myself!’

‘Bless the child! As though you could mend my roof!’

‘I mean, I’ll have it mended for you. You see, I’ve inherited all my grandmamma’s money, and I’ll be wanting to do all sorts of nice things for ladies that have been kind to me. Come along, Muriel.’

Mrs. Wigle was dazed before the splendor of it. A little boy with all that fortune! Beautiful to see him holding her Muriel by the hand! She followed them, rolling her arms tightly in her apron, into Mrs. Brawn’s shop. She did not give him time to tell his news to fat Mrs. Brawn. She poured it out for him, and the two women stood, wrapped in admiration, while he scrutinized the contents of the window.

‘I was so excited,’ he murmured, half to himself, ‘that I could n’t eat my breakfast. “Air,” I said, “I’ve got to have air.” . . . I think 1 ’ll have two currant buns, a little dish of custard cakes, and three bottles of orangeade. Muriel, what would you like?’

He stood before the counter, slender, fragile, the toe of one crossed foot resting on the floor, his dark head bent above the bottle from which the lovely drink ebbed through two straws into his throat. Before him stood the unopened bottles, the custard cakes, a currant bun. He held the other bun, soft, sticky, warm from the oven. At his shoulder was the tow head of Muriel, her eyes raised adoringly to his face as she munched a bun. She would have followed him to the ends of the earth.

XX

In the hall Wakefield almost ran into Mr. Patton, who was putting on his coat. Mr. Patton had the uncomfortable expression on his face of one who has eaten something that has disagreed with him. The expression on the face of Renny, who was accompanying him to the door, was even more uncomfortable. He said, ‘You’re sure there’s no doubt of her sanity?’

Mr. Patton puckered his lips. ‘None whatever.’

‘Well, she had a right to do what she liked with her own money, but — it’s rather hard on my uncles.’

‘Yes, yes. . . . Yes, indeed.’

‘And so entirely unexpected. She never seemed to care especially for him. She was much more partial to Piers.’

‘You never can tell.’

‘With women — I suppose not.’

‘Nor men, either. It’s extraordinary what some of them will do.’

Mr. Patton picked up his brief bag, and looked into Renny’s eyes with some embarrassment. ‘It’s hard on you, too. Particularly as in most of the former wills — ’

Renny scowled. ‘I’m not worrying about that. How many wills did you say there have been?’

‘Eight during the twenty years I have looked after her alfairs. Some changes, of course, were only minor. In most of them you — ’

They became conscious of the little boy’s presence. He was staring up at them inquisitively. Retmy saw a question coming, and took the back of Wakefield’s neck in a restraining hand. Mr. Patton’s lips unpuckered into a smile.

‘He’s looking pretty well,’ he remarked.

‘There’s no bone to him. Just gristle, He’s got no appetite.’

The lawyer felt Wake’s arm. ‘ Not very firm! Still, his eyes are bright; but then, your family runs to bright eyes.’

‘Who — ’ began Wakefield, and Kenny’s fingers tightened on his neck.

He and Mr. Patton shook hands. The lawyer hurried out to his car.

‘But who — ’ began Wake again.

The master of Jalna took out a cigarette, struck a match on the underside of the hatrack, and, after its Hare had lighted the cigarette and been reflected in his eyes, threw it into the umbrella stand. He turned then toward the fantastic silence of the sitting room. Wakefield followed.

This was the strangest room he had ever been in. The drawing-room had seemed strange when Grandmother lay there in her coffin with the lighted candles about her and the presence of death making the air heavy, but this was stranger still. For, though the air was heavy as death, it was pregnant with the life of battling emotions.

Nicholas still sat in the corner with his pipe. He held it in his teeth, and stared at Renny and Wakefield as they came into the room without seeming to see them. He stroked the back of Nip, his terrier, with a large trembling hand, and seemed to be unaware of his presence also.

Ernest was rubbing the nails of one hand against the palm of the other, as though he had never stopped, but now he did stop, and began to tap his teeth with them, as though all the polishing had been leading up to that. Augusta looked more natural than the others, but what disturbed Wake was that her eyes, fixed on Ernest, were full of tears. He had never seen tears in them before.

The eyes of Piers, Maurice, and even the infant. Patience, were on Finch, and Finch looked more miserable than Wakefield had ever seen anyone look in all his life. Certainly he had not fallen heir to a fortune!

‘But who?’ Wake entreated, in his penetrating treble. ‘ Who? ’

All the eyes, dark and light, intense and mournful, turned on him. Words froze on his lips. He began to cry.

‘No wonder the child weeps,’ said Aunt Augusta, regarding him gloomily. ‘Even he is conscious of the outrage of it.’

Nicholas took his pipe from his mouth, tapped it over the hearth, then blew it out with a whistling sound. He said nothing, but Piers broke out, ‘I always knew he had a yellow streak. But how he accomplished this —

‘My mother,’ declared Augusta, ‘must have been demented. Let Mr. Patton say what he will —•’

‘Old ninny,’ said Piers, ‘to allow a woman of that age to play ducks and drakes with her money! It’s a case for the courts. We must never stand for it. Are you going to let yourself he done out of what is really yours, Renny?’

‘Really his!* cried Augusta.

‘Yes. really his! What about those other wills?’

Augusta’s glazed eyes flashed away the tears. ‘ What of the will in which all was left to your uncle Ernest?’

Ernest suddenly seemed to feel weak. He sat down and twisted his fingers between his knees, and his underlip between his teeth.

‘That was years ago!’ retorted Piers.

‘She was sane then. She must have been quite mad when she made this will.’

Ernest held up his hand. ‘Don’t! Don’t! I can’t bear to hear Mamma spoken of so! ’

‘But, Ernest, the money should be yours!’

‘I can do without the money.’

Piers glared at Augusta. ‘ I don’t see why the blazes you insist that the money should come to Uncle Ernest! What about Uncle Nick? What about Renny? Renny’s had the whole family to keep for years!’

‘Shut up!’ growled Renny, savagely.

‘How dare you insult us?’ cried Augusta. ‘This is my brothers’ home! I have been here to look after my mother. What could she have done without me, I should like to know?'

‘Kept up an establishment of her own! She’d plenty of money!’

Nicholas pointed with his pipe at Piers. ‘Say one word more!’ he thundered. He struggled to rise, but could not. Ernest sprang up, trembling, and went to him. Grasping his brother’s arm. Ernest pulled him to his feet. Augusta also went to him, and the three stood together facing the younger generation.

‘I repeat what I said,’ said Piers.

Renny interrupted, ‘It doesn’t matter what he says! I’ve never grudged — ’

Nicholas exclaimed, sardonically, ‘Well, now, that’s handsome of you! Very handsome of you! You haven’t grudged us a roof! Our meals! We ought to feel grateful. Eh, Augusta? Eh, Ernest? ’

Renny’s face went white. ‘I don’t understand you. You purposely put me in the wrong! For God’s sake, be fair! Have I ever acted as though I did n’t want any one of you here? I have always wanted you. I always wanted Gran!’

Piers burst out, ‘That’s the trouble! Renny’s been too generous. And now this is the thanks he gets!’

‘You to talk!’ snarled Nicholas. ‘You who brought your wife here, when everyone was against it!’

‘Yes, and who was she?’ thrust Augusta.

Nicholas proceeded, ‘And what did she do? Made a little hell here!’

‘Eden would have been all right,’ cried Ernest, ‘if she had only let him alone!’

Piers strode toward them, his hands clenched, but Meg interrupted: ‘Everyone talks so selfishly! As though his side of the question was the only one. What about me? Put off with an old India shawl and a big gold watch and chain no one ever carries the like of now!’

Augusta cried, passionately, ‘My mother’s watch was a valued possession to her! She thought you, as the only granddaughter, should have it, and those India shawls are priceless nowadays!’

‘Yes! I’ve seen Boney make his bed on this one!’

Piers was trying to shoulder himself from Renny’s restraining hand. ‘Do you expect me,’ he muttered, ‘to let them say such things about Pheasant? I’ll murder someone before I’ve done.’

Renny said, with composure, though he was still white, ‘Don’t be a fool! The old people are all wrought up. They don’t know what they’re saying. If you care a straw for me, Piers, hang on to yourself!’

Piers bit his lip and scowled down at his hoots.

Meg’s voice was heard again. ‘When I think of the lovely things she had! I could have borne her giving the ruby ring to Pheasant, if she’d treated me fairly afterward. But a watch and chain — and a shawl that Boney’d made a nest in!’

‘Margaret!’ thundered Augusta.

Meg’s face was a mask of obstinacy. ‘What I want to know is who the ruby ring really belongs to!’

‘Belonged to, you mean, Meggie, before your grandmother gave it away,’ corrected Maurice.

‘I think,’ said Ernest, ‘it was the one she intended for Alayne.’

‘As though Alayne needed one of my grandmother’s rings!’ Meg’s mask of obstinacy was broken by temper.

Renny said, with a chest vibration in his voice, ‘Each grandson’s wife is to have a piece of jewelry, or the grandson a piece for his prospective wife. As I understand the will, Aunt Augusta and I are to make the choice. Is n’t that so, Aunt? ’

Augusta nodded, judicially. ‘Pheasant already has her bequest.’

‘She has nothing of the sort!’ said Piers, vehemently. ‘The ruby ring was a present entirely outside the will.’

‘I agree,’ said Renny.

A sultry lull fell on the room for a moment, in which could be heard the ticking of the clock, the heavy breathing of Nicholas, and the loud tap of a woodpecker on a tree near the open window. The momentary silence was broken by Augusta’s contralto tones.

‘The whole situation is disgraceful,’ she said. ‘I’ve never known such insensibility. Here I and my brothers are put off with not very valuable personal possessions of my mother’s, and expected to be content while all the squabbling goes on among the rest of you over her jewels.’

Nicholas added fuel to the flame: ‘And the memory of our mother is insulted by one nephew who says she sponged on Renny — ’

‘And we too,’ put in Ernest.

Nicholas continued, gnawing his gray moustache, ‘While another nephew benevolently tells us that he’s never grudged us shelter and our meals!’

‘If you’re going to bring that up again,’ Renny exclaimed, despairingly, ‘I shall get out, and that’s flat.!’

Maurice Vaughan said, heavily, ‘What we should all do is to get down to brass tacks, if possible, and find out why your grandmother did such an extraordinary thing as to leave all her money to Finch.’

Augusta reared her head in his direction. ‘My mother was deranged — there is no doubt of it.’

‘Have you anything to go on?’ asked Vaughan. ‘Had she been acting strangely, in your opinion?’

‘I’ve noticed a difference.’

Meg asked eagerly, ‘ What sort of things, Auntie?’

‘For one thing, I overheard her several times talking to herself.’

Talking to herself! The phrase produced a strange tremor in the room. Those in the corners appeared to draw toward the centre, as though their intense individualism were about to be merged.

‘Ha!’ said Vaughan. ‘Did you notice anything singular in what she said? Did she ever mention Finch’s name?’

Augusta pressed her finger to her brow. ‘M-yes. Yes, she did! She muttered something once about Finch and a Chinese goddess.’

Nicholas leaned forward, clasping his gouty knee. ‘Did you ask her what she meant?’

‘Yes. I said, “Mamma, whatever do you mean?” and she said, “That, lad has guts, though you might n’t think it!” ... I did wish she would not use such coarse expressions ! ’

Vaughan looked at the faces about him. ‘I think that is sufficient proof. Do what you like about an appeal, but I think no one who was sane would ramble like that.'

Nicholas rolled his gray-crested head from side to side. He growled, ‘That’s nothing. If anyone could hear my mutterings to myself, I might easily be considered insane.’

Piers flashed, ‘You may be, but the rest of us are n’t! It’s a case for the courts!’

‘Yes, indeed!’ chimed Meg. ‘We might easily arrange to have the money divided equally.’

Augusta cocked her Queen Alexandra fringe, ‘If it could be done—it’s really the just way out of the difficulty.’

Ernest raised his long face from gnawing his forefinger. ‘It seems to me,’ he faltered, ‘that I’ve never known Mamma brighter than she was that last day.’

Meg exclaimed, ironically, ‘If you call it bright, giving away her most valuable ring on a mere whim! ’

‘For the Lord’s sake,’ shouted Piers, ‘try to get your mind off that ring! One would think it represented a fortune!’

‘ It quite probably does,’returned his sister suavely. ‘ What can you know of the value of jewels — you, a crude boy who has been nowhere, seen nothing!'

Piers’s eyes grew prominent. ‘I should like to know what you’ve seen and done?’ he inquired, sarcastically. ‘You spent nearly twenty years trying to make up your mind to marry your next-door neighbor.’

Meg burst into tears, and the baby, hearing her mother cry, put her kid slippers in the air and wept with all her might.

Above the noise Maurice called to Piers, ‘I won’t have you insulting my wife!

‘Make her let my wife alone, then!’ retorted Piers.

Augusta boomed, ‘Is it our duty, 1 wonder, to make an appeal? To settle the matter in court?’

‘What’s that you sav?’ asked Nicholas. ‘I can’t hear you for the noise they’re all making!’

‘I said I wondered if we should go to law about it.’

The sound of crying ceased as suddenly as it had begun. All the heads in the room — they seemed to Finch, sitting guiltily on his ottoman, to have swollen to the size of balloons — turned, as though drawn by a magnet, facing Kenny. It was one of those volcanic moments when the entire family shouldered all responsibility upon him. The faces, which had been distorted with emotion, gradually smoothed out as though each had inhaled some numbing incense, and an almost ceremonial hush fell on the room. Kenny, the chieftain, was to speak. Goaded, harried, he was to give expression to the sentiments of the clan.

He stood, his hands resting on the table, his red hair raised into a crest as though distraught, and said, in his rather metallic voice, ‘We shall do no such thing! We’ll settle our affairs in our own way without any intervention from outsiders. I had rather give up Jalna than take Gran’s will into court! As to her sanity — sane or insane, her money was hers to do what she liked with! 1 believe she was perfectly sane, 1 think 1 never knew a better brain than hers. All her life she knew what she wanted to do — and did it. And if this last act of hers is a bitter pill for some of us, all we can do is to swallow it, and not get cockeyed fighting over it. Imagine the newspaper articles! “Descendants of Centenarian at War over Will ”! How should we like that ? ’

‘Horrible!’ said Ernest.

‘No, no, no. It would never do,’ muttered Nicholas, indistinctly.

‘Newspapers! And outsiders gossiping!’ Augusta gasped. ‘I never could bear that!’

‘But still — ’ wavered Meg.

Piers said, ‘You are the one most concerned, Renny. If you’re willing to take it lying down — ’

Nicholas heaved himself about in his chair and looked sombrely at Piers. ‘I can’t see why you persist in regarding Renny as the one chiefly concerned. It’s very irritating. It’s impertinent.’

Renny broke in, ‘That’s beside the point, Uncle Nick! The point is that we can’t go to law over Gran’s will, is n’t it?’

Nicholas gave a proud and melancholy assent. No, they could not go to law. The wall about them must be kept intact. Their isolation must not be thrown down like a glove, to challenge notoriety. Bitter as the disappointment was, it must be borne. The Whiteoaks would not supply a heading for a column in any of the tawdry newspapers of the day. Gossip for the neighborhood! Their affairs settled by a court! They were a law unto themselves.

The temporary breach in their protective wall closed up, knitting them together, uniting them against interference. Renny had spoken, and a sigh of acquiescence, even of relief, rose from the tribe. Not one of them — not, in his heart of hearts, even Piers — wanted to go to law over the will. That would have been to acknowledge weakness, to have offered submission to a decree from outside Jalna.

Even Maurice Vaughan felt the hypnotic spell of the family. Impossible to fight against it. Knuckle under and bear with them, that was all one could do. They raised Cain, and then they took hands and danced in a circle around the Cain they had raised. They sowed the wind and reaped the whirlwind, but they wanted no outside labor to help garner that harvest. . . . Maurice took his baby daughter and dandled her. She was the image of her mother. He wondered if she would have her mother’s nature. Well, she might do worse. Meggie was almost perfect. He was lucky to have got her. And the baby, too!

Piers was standing with his back to the mantel, looking at Finch with narrowed eyes. ‘There’s one thing l think we should find out,’ he said.

He got no further, for at that moment a tap sounded on the folding doors, they were drawn apart, and the dining room was discovered, with the table set for dinner.

Rags said, addressing Augusta, ‘The dinner has been ready for some time, Your Ladyship. You seemed so occupied that 1 thought I ’ad better not disturb you before.’ His eyes flew about the room, his impudent nose quivered, scenting trouble.

Augusta rose and passed her hands down her sides, smoothing her dress. She said to Renny, ‘Shall you ask your sister and her husband to dinner?’

He thought, ‘She’s punishing me for what Piers said about her and the uncles stopping here so long. She won’t take it on herself to invite Meg and Maurice to dinner. Lord, as though there weren’t enough trouble!’ Well, he would not give her the satisfaction of appearing to notice anything. He said, ‘Of course you two will stay to dinner.’

‘There’s Baby,’ said Meg.

‘Tuck her up on the sofa. She’s all but asleep.’

‘Oh, I don’t think I had better!’ Her tears overflowed again.

Nicholas hobbled up, stiff after sitting so long in one position, and tucked his hand under her arm. ‘Come, come, Meggie, stop your grizzling and have a good dinner,’ he rumbled.

Even with old Adeline gone, they retained the air of a procession as they moved into the dining room. Nicholas first, holding by the arm plump-cheeked Meg; next Ernest, struggling against self-pity, comforted by Augusta at his side, full of pity for him. Then Piers, Finch, and Wakefield. Finch looked as though he did not see where he was going, and when Piers jostled against him in the doorway he all but toppled over. Maurice and Renny came last.

Maurice said, grinning, ‘So you’re to have the old painted bedstead! What are you going to do with it?’

‘Get into it and stay there, if this sort of thing keeps up,’ returned the master of Jalna.

He sat down at the head of his table and cast his sharp glance over the clan. Still a goodly number, even though Gran and Eden were missing. After a while young Mooey would be big enough to come to table. . . . But Pheasant was not there, He frowned. Just then she entered timidly, and slid into her place between Piers and Finch.

‘Where have you been hiding all morning?’ asked Renny.

‘Oh, I thought I was superfluous,’ she answered, trying to appear sophisticated, entirely grown up, and not at all nervous.

Piers pressed his ankle against hers. She trembled. Was it possible that he was signaling her — telling her that Mooey was the heir? Her eyes slid toward his face. No jubilation there. A grim, half-jocular look about the firm, healthy lips. Poor little Mooey had not got the money, Then who had? Her gaze, sheltered by long lashes, sought one face after another, and found no answer. Find there been a mistake? Was there perhaps no fortune after all? Under cover of the voices of Maurice and Renny, discussing the points of a twoyear-old with determined cheerfulness, she whispered to Finch on her left, ‘For goodness’ sake, tell me, who is the lucky one?’

His voice came to her in a sepulchral whisper: —

‘Me!’

She whispered back, ‘There may be thousands who would believe you, but I can’t.’

‘It’s true.’

‘It is not!’

Yet, looking into his eyes, she saw that it, was. She began to laugh, silently, yet hysterically, shaking from head to foot. It was too much for Finch; he too shook with soundless mirth, very near to tears. The eyes of all at the table were turned on them in shocked disapproval or disgust. Finch — an indecent young ruffian. Pheasant — a hussy.

Augusta saved the moment from tragedy by declaring, sonorously, ‘They’re mad! They must be mad,’

The meal proceeded. With decisive movements of his thin muscular hands Renny cut from the joint portions to the taste of each member of the circle — for Nicholas, it must be very rare, with a rim of fat; for Ernest, well done, not a vestige of fat; for Augusta, well done and fat. For all, generous pieces of Yorkshire pudding. For Wake alone fat, when he hated fat! ‘See that he eats it. Aunt!’ And — * akefield, you must, or you won’t grow strong!’ Then the usual slumping on his spine until Meg transferred the despised morsel from his plate to hers.

To a family of weaker fibre such a scene as the one just passed in the sitting room might have ended all appetite for dinner. It was not so with the family at Jalna. The extravagant and wasteful energy of their emotions now required fresh fuel. They ate swiftly and with relish, only in an unusual silence, for they were still oppressed by that empty chair between Nicholas and Ernest, and into their silence was flung, every now and again, the sharp memory of the harsh old voice, crying, ‘Gravy! I want more gravy! Dish gravy, please, on this bit of bread! ’

Ah, how her shadow hung on them! How the yellow light, sifting through the blinds, threw a sort of halo about her chair! Once Ernest’s cat crept from his knee to the empty chair, but no sooner was she seated there than Nicholas’s terrier leaped to drag her down, as though he knew that empty seat was sacred.

Renny fed his spaniels with scraps from his plate. He shot swift glances at the plates of his aunt and uncles. He urged their replenishment, but they steadfastly refused. He set his teeth. They were remembering, he was sure, what Piers had said; out of hurt pride they were refusing second helpings.

When a steamed blackberry pudding came, with its syrupy purple sauce, deep melancholy settled on them. It was the first pudding of this kind they had had since her death. How she would have loved it! How her nose and chin and cap would have pressed forward to meet it as it advanced toward her! How she would have mashed the pudding into its sauce, and dribbled the sauce on her chin! Ernest almost found himself saying aloud, ‘Mamma, must you do that ? ’

They ate the pudding in heavy silence. Finch and Pheasant were barely able to restrain their insane laughter. Wakefield’s eyes were bright with admiration as they rested on the tall silver fruit dish in the middle of the table. From its base sprung a massive silver grapevine, beneath the shelter of which stood a silver doe and her fawn. It was heaped with glowing peaches and ripe pears. Aunt Augusta had had it brought out on the day of the funeral, and it had remained. Wakefield wished it might remain forever. He wished he had been placed opposite it instead of at the far end, so that the nearness of the darling little fawn might take his mind off the terrible silence. He knew now quite definitely that he had not inherited Grandmother’s money, and he did not so very much mind. He had had a nice morning pretending that he was the heir, and he did not see why the others could not accept their disappointment as he did, . . . Funny to think of Finch. . . . Would Finch take Gran’s room now and sleep in the painted bed? He pictured Finch propped on the pillows with Boney perching at the head. Finch, in a nightcap and teeth like Grandmother’s! Wakefield was rather frightened by this picture. He put his head to one side and reassured himself by the sight of Finch looking wretched, beyond the fruit dish. A queer grayish color over Finch’s face made him remember something. He puckered his forehead, winked fast, and then broke the silence.

‘Kenny,’ he questioned, with great distinctness, ‘was Finch born with a caul?’

The steaming cup of tea halfway to the lips of the master of Jalna was suspended; his eyebrows shot upward in astonishment.

‘A caul!’ he snapped. ‘A caul! What the devil — what put that into your head?’

Meg broke in. ‘I think it is too bad of you, Kenny, to swear at Wake! He was only asking a natural question!’ ‘A natural question! Well, if you call cauls natural. I ’ll be — ’

‘There you go again!’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Only because I stopped you! Really, you can’t speak without swearing!’

Piers asked, ‘But was he?’

‘Was who?’

‘ Finch. Born with a caul.’

‘Yes, he was,’ answered Meg, stroking Wakefield’s hair.

‘Extraordinary!’ said Nicholas, wiping his moustache and staring at Finch. ‘I had never heard of one in the family.’

Meg said, TIis mother kept it in a little box, but after she died it disappeared.’

Ernest observed, ’It is supposed to be a good omen. To bring luck.’

Piers laughed. ‘Aha! Now we’ve hit it! Good luck! It’s the caul that did it!’ He laughed into Finch’s face. ‘Why didn’t you let us know about it before? We might have been on our guard. Gosh, you’re a dirty dog, Finch, to go sneaking around with a caul on your head, rounding up all the ducats in the family!’

Finch pushed back his chair and rose, shaking with rage. ‘Come outside with me!’ he said, chokingly. ‘Only come outside with me! I’ll show vou who’s a dirty dog! I’ll—’

‘Sit down!’ ordered Kenny.

Nicholas thundered, ‘Have you no sense of decency, you young ruffian?’

Everyone began to talk at once. Wakefield listened, astonished yet not ill pleased, as one who had sown the seed of a daisy and raised a fierce, thorny cactus. A caul. To think that one little word like that should raise this storm.

Finch sat down and rested his head on his hand.

Ernest looked across at him not unkindly. ‘You need never be afraid of the water,’ he said. ‘One who is born with a caul is never drowned.’

Augusta asked of Wakefield. ‘But, my dear, however did you hear of such a thing?’

‘Finch told me himself. I wish I’d got one!’

‘So do I!’ said Piers. ‘It seems a shame that Finch should have all the luck.’

Pheasant could remain in doubt no longer. ‘But what are they?’

’One does n’t explain them,’ replied Aunt Augusta, looking down her nose.

Renny regarded Finch with no good eye. ‘I don’t like your telling the youngster about such things. I don’t like it at all. I’ll have a word with you about this. Another cup of tea, Aunt, please.’

Good appetite had attended all the Whiteoaks at dinner, but Finch had eaten as though famished. In spite of the fact that he was in acute disfavor, looked upon with suspicion and reproach, something inside him was ravening for food. He felt that if he could appease that something he might not feel so light-headed. But he rose from the table unsatisfied. . . . If only he could escape and hide himself in the woods! Press bis hot forehead against the cool earth and his breast upon the pine needles! He made a stumbling effort to go into the hall instead of returning to the sitting room with the others, but Nicholas laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

’Don’t go away, boy. I should like to ask you a few questions.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Ernest, on his other side, ‘I should like to find out something of the inside of this affair, if possible.’

Finch returned, as between jailers, to the torture room. He heard the clock on the landing strike two, and this was echoed in a silvery tone by the French clock in the drawing-room, and in an abrupt metallic voice by the clock on the mantelpiece of the sitting room. Nicholas took out his large hunting-case watch and looked at it. , . . Ernest looked at his nails. . , . Meg hung over her baby. . . . Maurice dropped into a comfortable chair and began to fill his pipe with his active hand, the disabled one lying, unmoved and smooth, on the leather arm of the chair. Finch, seeing it, felt a sudden morbid envy of it. It was hopelessly injured, neglected, let alone. . . . Renny took the muzzle of one of his spaniels in his lean brown hands, opened it, and examined the healthy white teeth. . . . Piers, in a corner, laughed at Pheasant. . . . Augusta produced a piece of crochet work from a bag, and a. long, stabbing crochet hook. . . . Finch saw them all as torturers.

There was Rags, closing the folding doors upon them, seeming to say, ’There naow, I leave you to your own devices! Whatever you may gaow through, it’s all the sime to me!’

But not yet were they to settle down. A voice came from Grandmother’s room, crying, ‘Nick! Nick! Nick!’

Ernest clapped his hands on his ears.

‘Boney!’ ejaculated Nicholas hoarsely. ‘God, what has come over the bird?’

’He has made up His mind,’ said Augusta, ‘to torture us.’

Ernest cautiously removed his hands from his ears. ‘It is unbearable! I don’t know what we are going to do about it.’

Maurice suggested, ’Perhaps it would be better to put him away, as he seems to be out of sorts and all that.’

Every blazing glance in the room branded him as an outsider.

‘He will be all right,’ said Renny, ‘as soon as he’s done moulting. He ought to have a few drops of brandy in his drinking water. I remember Gran used to give him that for a tonic. Fetch him in here. Wake. He needs company.’

The parrot was brought in, squatting glumly on his perch, and placed in the middle of the room beside the ottoman on which Finch had uncomfortably disposed his lanky form. Boney ruffled himself, shook his wings, and three feathers drifted to the floor.

‘It’s uncanny,’ muttered Nicholas, ‘that he should have forgotten his Hindu, and should say only my name.’

’It’s dreadful,’said Ernest.

‘I think,’ declared Augusta, ’that there’s something portentous about it. It’s as though he were trying to tell us something.’

‘He looks strangely agitated,’ said Ernest.

Everyone looked at Boney, who returned melancholy stare for stare out of cold yellow eyes.

After a silence, Nicholas heaved himself in his chair and turned to Finch. ‘Did my mother ever give you reason to believe that she was going to leave her money to you?’

‘No, Uncle Nick.’ Finch’s voice was scarcely audible.

‘Did she ever speak to you of the disposal of her property?’

‘No, Uncle Nick.'

‘Did she ever speak to you of having made a new will?’

‘No — she never spoke of any will to me.’

‘You had no faintest idea that her will was in your favor?'

‘No.’

‘Then you would have us believe that you were as much surprised as we were this morning when Patton read the will.''’

Finch flushed deeply. ‘I — I was terribly surprised.’

‘Come, come,’ put in Piers, ‘don’t expect us to believe that! You never turned a hair when Patton read the will. I was looking at you. You knew damn well what was coming.’

‘I didn’t!’ shouted Finch. ‘I didn’t know a thing about it!’

‘Stay!’ said Nicholas. ‘Don’t get blustery, Piers. .1 want to untwist this tangle, if possible.’ His eyes, under his shaggy brows, pierced Finch. ‘You say you were as astonished as the rest of us by the will. Just tell us, please, what in your opinion was my mother’s reason for making you her heir.’

Finch twisted his hands between his knees. He wished some tidal wave might rise and sweep him from their sight.

‘Yes,’ urged Ernest, ‘tell us why you think she did such a thing. We are not angry at you. We only want to find out whether there was any reason for such an extraordinary act.’

‘I don’t know of any reason,’ stammered Finch. ‘I — I wish she had n’t!’

He did himself no good by this admission. The words coming from his mouth, drawn in misery, made him the more contemptible.

Nicholas turned to Augusta. ‘What was that about Mamma’s talking to herself? Something about a Chinese goddess.’

Augusta laid down her crochet work. ‘ I could n’t make it out. Just some mumbled words about Finch and the goddess Kuan Yin. It was then she said that he had more — you know what. 1 prefer not to repeat it.’

‘Now, what about this Chinese goddess. Finch? Do you know what my mother meant by coupling your name with such a strange one?’ ‘I don’t see why she should have,’ he hedged, weakly.

‘Did she at any time mention a Chinese goddess to you?’

‘Yes.’ He was floundering desperately. ‘She said I might learn — she — that is, she said I might get to understand something of life from her.’

‘From her?’

‘Yes. Kuan Yin.’

‘This is worth following up,’ remarked Vaughan.

‘It sounds as though Gran and Finch were both a little mad at the time,’ said his wife.

‘At the time,’ repeated Nicholas. ‘Just how long ago did this conversation take place?’

‘Oh, quite a bit ago. At the beginning of summer.’

Nicholas said, pointing at Finch with his pipe, ‘Now, tell us exactly what led up to this conversation.’

Ernest interrupted him, nervously, ‘The little Chinese goddess Mamma brought from India! Of course. I have uot seen the little figure for some time. Strange I did n’t miss it! Have you noticed it lately, Augusta?’

Augusta tapped the bridge of her nose sharply with her crochet hook, as though to stimulate her faculty of nosing out secrets. ‘No — I have not. It is gone! It is gone from Mamma s room! It has been stolen!’

Finch burned his bridges. ‘No, it has n’t. She gave it to me.’

‘Where is it?’ demanded Nicholas.

‘In my room.’

‘I was in your room this morning,’ said Augusta. ‘I thought 1 smelled something strange. The goddess was not there! 1 should have noticed instantly! ’

Finch cared for nothing now but to have this cross-questioning done with. He said, with weary contempt for the consequences. ‘You did not see her because she is hidden. I keep her hidden. The stuff you smelled was incense. I was burning it before her at sunrise. I forgot to shut my door when I came down.’

If Finch had suddenly produced horns on his young brow, or hoofs instead of worn brown shoes, he could scarcely have appeared as a greater monstrosity to his family. The monotonous pressure of their various personalities upon his bruised spirit was violently withdrawn. The recoil was so palpable that he raised his head and drew a deep breath, as though inhaling a draft of fresh air.

They drew back shocked from a Whiteoak who had risen at sunrise to burn incense before a heathen goddess. What sort of abortion had the English governess — young Philip’s second wife — produced? That they. Courts and Whiteoaks, — gentlemen, soldiers, ‘goddamming’ country squires, — should come to this! A white-faced, wincing boy who did fantastic things in his attic room while his family slept! And to this one had old Adeline, toughest-fibred of them all, left her money!

Their invincible repugnance toward such a deviation from their traditions caused a tremor of bewilderment to shake their tenacity. Finch, slumping on his ottoman, seemed a creature apart.

But this spurious advantage was soon past. The circle tightened again.

Nicholas, his chin gripped in his hand, said, ‘When I was at Oxford there were fellows who did that sort of thing. I never thought to see a nephew of mine . . . And you expect us to believe that you hoped to gain nothing by my mother’s will, when in secret she was giving you valuable presents?’

‘I did n’t know’ it was valuable.’

Meg cried, ‘You must have thought it was very strange that she should be giving away things she had treasured all these years! The goddess —the ruby ring!’

‘What motive had you in hiding the present?’ probed Nicholas.

‘I dunno.’

‘Yes, you do know. Don’t lie. We’re going to get to the bottom of this!’

‘Well, it was hers, I thought. I didn’t think — 1 knew she would n’t want it mentioned.’

‘And what else?’

‘I thought I’d get into a row.’

Must for having a present given you? Come, now!’

Ernest interjected, ‘But why should she have given him anything? I can’t make it out!’ Piers grinned sarcastically. ‘Look at him, and you’ll understand. He’s such an intriguing young devil. I am always longing to give him something.’

Renny spoke, from where he sat on the window seat. ‘Cut that out, Piers.’

Nicholas continued, ‘Were you often alone with my mother? I don’t remember ever finding you together!’

Finch writhed; his chin sank to his breast. He set his teeth.

Renny said, ‘Make a clean breast of it, Finch! Hold your head up.’

The boy was intolerably miserable. He could not bear it. Yet he must bear it. They would give him no peace till they had everything out of him.

‘Buck up!’ said Renny. ‘You didn’t steal the goddess, or the money either. Don’t act as though you had!’

Finch raised his head. He fixed his eyes on Augusta’s crochet work, which lay on her lap, and said in a husky voice:—

‘I’ve been going to the church to practise on the organ at night. Once, when I came in very late, Gran called me. I went into her room and we talked together. That was the night she gave me the goddess. After that I went often — almost every night.’ He stopped with a jerk.

There was a sultry silence while they waited for him to go on.

Nicholas nudged him, almost gently. ‘Yes? You went every night to my mother’s room. You talked. Would you mind telling me what about?’

‘I talked about music, but not much. She did most of the talking. The old days here — her life in India, and about when she was a young girl in the Old Country.’

Ernest cried, ‘No wonder Mamma was drowsy in the daytime! Awake half the night talking!’

Finch was reckless now. They might as well have something to rage about. ‘I used,’ he said, ‘to go to the dining room and get biscuits and glasses of sherry, and that made her enjoy it more. It helped keep her awake. ’

‘No wonder she was drowsy! No wonder she was absent-minded!’ cried Ernest, almost in tears.

Augusta said, with dreadful solemnity, ‘No wonder that for the last month her breakfast trays have come away almost untouched! ’

‘I saw her failing day by day!’ wailed Meg.

Nicholas cast a grim look at those about him. ‘This has probably shortened her life by years.’

‘It has killed her!’ said Ernest, distractedly.

‘He’s little better than a murderer!’ said Augusta.

Finch could look them in the eyes now. They knew the worst. He was a monster, and a murderer. Let them take him out and hang him to the nearest tree! He was almost calm.

Their tempers were surging this way and that like waves driven by variable winds. They were all talking at once, blaming him, blaming each other, desperately near to blaming old Adeline! And the voice of Uncle Nicholas, like the voice of the seventh wave, was the most resonant, the most terrible. It was the voice of the wronged eldest son.

Presently the voice of Piers, full of malicious laughter, disentangled itself from the others. He was saying, ‘The whole thing is a tremendous joke on the family. We thought Finch was queer. A weakling. But, don’t you see, he’s the strongest, the sanest, of the lot? He’s been pulling the wool over everybody’s eyes for years. Poor, harmless, hobbledehoy Finch! Wellmeaning, but so simple! I tell you, he’s as cool and calculating as they make them! He’s had this under his hat ever since he came back from New’ York!’

‘Hot!’ said Renny.

‘You’d stand up for him, Renny! Why, he’s fooled you all along! Did n’t he trick you into thinking he went in to Leigh’s to study, when he was up to his eyes in playacting? Did n’t he trick you nicely over the orchestra? He was supposed to be studying then, and he was playing the piano in cheap restaurants, and coming home drunk in the morning! And now he’s tricked you out of Gran’s money!’

The laughter had died out of his voice — it was savage. Enraged, Finch cried out, ‘Shut up! It’s a pack of lies!’

‘Deny that you ever set out to deceive Renny!’

‘What about you? You deceived him when you got married!’

‘I was n’t cheating him out of anything!’

Finch rose to his feet, his arms rigid at his sides, his hands clenched, ‘I’m not cheating Renny! I don’t want to cheat anyone. I don’t want the money! I want to give it back! I won’t take it! I won’t take it — I won’t take it — ’

He burst into despairing tears. He walked up and down the room, wringing his hands, entreating Nicholas — entreating Ernest to take the money. He stopped before Renny, his face broken into a grotesque semblance to that of a gargoyle by devastating emotion, and begged him to take the money. He was so distraught that he did not know what he was doing, and when Renny pulled him on to the window seat beside him he sank down bewildered, dazed by his own clamorous beseecliings. His throat ached as though he had been screaming. Had he been screaming? He did not. know. He saw them looking at him out of white, startled faces. He saw Pheasant run from the room. He saw Meggie clutching her crying baby. He heard Renny’s voice in his ear, saying, ‘For God’s sake, get hold of yourself! You make me ashamed for you!’

He put his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands. Against his cheek he felt the roughness of Renny’s tweed sleeve, and he wanted to rub against it, to cling to it, to cry his heart out against it like a frightened little boy.

In a heavy undertone the talk went on and on, but no one addressed him. They were done with him now. They could not or would not take the money from him, but they would let him alone, and they would talk and talk, till from afar off the tidal wave he had been praying for would come roaring and sweep them all into oblivion. . . .

The tidal wave came, and it was Rags; the oblivion, tea.

(To be continued)