“I was thinking it’s so unlike Richard to spend money that he can save. Is she—this woman—making trouble?”
“They say so. They generally do, of course. The fellow must be a fool to let this come on him at such a critical time, but between you and me I never have considered Richard quite the brilliant chap he thinks himself.”
Olivia was following up a train of thought of her own. “Then, if she’s making trouble too, and he hasn’t any money, he must get something out of father if he isn’t to be ruined, Eustace!” She shot the words at him. “If what you say is true, that father’s pretty well ruined himself, he certainly wouldn’t have much to give, and anything he had would go to Richard. I’m convinced of that.”
She dropped into silence. Eustace, who saw no point in wasting anything, not even words, recommenced his perambulations.
“And there’s Brand,” said Olivia gloomily, determined to get some kind of Russian satisfaction out of the general depression.
“Yes. I gathered he was cropping up again. Oh, I wouldn’t care to be in your father’s shoes. All his relations by blood or marriage, with the exception of the unambitious Miles, at his throat for cash. Is it anything new so far as Brand’s concerned? Is he threatened with a writ or the police, too?”
“Oh, nothing fresh, I expect. He’s been a nuisance to us ever since he was fifteen. You know, he was expelled from —— for what his headmaster called obscene caricatures of those in authority.”
“Oh, I know that sort of thing,” said Eustace impatiently. “Anything that detracts from the dignity of these bearded old men is obscene. I daresay he was extremely clever—there’s no doubt about it, he’s an artist to his finger-tips and a different type of man from your father might be rather proud to help him. It’s fortunate for us that he isn’t, or our final hope would be sunk.”
“A charming family débâcle,” Olivia agreed. “Well, you must acknowledge this, Eustace. We do do things thoroughly; no skulking in odd corners for the Grays, once they get started.”
“Has it ever occurred to you to wonder what corners are for, except to be skulked in? And that waste of any opportunity is a crime?” For an instant he had allowed his composure to be shaken, but now he regained control of himself. “I must say I see your father’s point of view. It must be extremely annoying for a man who believes in no kind of possession but the material to learn that more than half his shares are worth no more than a load of stones. That’s a man who’d hold up the Last Trump to get his halfpenny change.”
Olivia laughed unwillingly. “What a good subject for Brand’s malicious brush. Oh, Eustace, come to bed, if you don’t want me to go mad. I’ve had enough for one night, And do you realise it’s already Christmas Day?”
Eustace said in interested tones, paying no heed to her exhausted query, “The trouble with your father is he’s not a racing man. A fellow who’s going to speculate as we do ought to know what it is to drop three figures on a horse. That’s the only right type for speculation. The other kind are fools—blind fools, if you like, but beyond redemption. All right, Olivia. I’m going. Good night.”
He drew the dark-blue brocaded dressing-gown more closely round him, and opened his dressing-room door.
“What are you going to do?” his wife asked.
“Think out some other way of pulling us out of this mess,” he returned coolly, and closed the door.
After a minute, she hid her face in the pillow with a furious groan. The house claimed to be well built, but even through the heavy door she could hear those neat pointed feet going up and down, up and down the dressing-room as for the past two hours they had gone up and down before her bed.
5. Ruth
While Richard was venting his wrath—which, if it could not vie with the mercy of the Lord and endure for ever, at least lasted for a considerable period—upon an indifferent Laura, while Eustace was driving his wife crazy by walking up and down in front of her, and Amy, sitting up by candlelight, calculated the cost per plate per person of the Christmas meals, Miles Amery sat on the foot of his wife’s bed and murmured affectionately, “Darling, you’re getting as plump as a partridge. How I adore fat women!”
“I’m not a bit fat,” said Ruth placidly, “and if I am, it’s only because I like to please you. I’m sure it gives me no satisfaction to go about looking like something out of a pudding-cloth.”
“You know my opinion about things that come out of pudding-cloths. Ruth darling, not even for you will I spend another Christmas under this inhospitable roof. I’d as soon be in gaol.”
“Well, they are my family,” offered Ruth weakly.
“For the hundred-and-first time, I’m convinced that you were a come-by-chance. No offence and all that, of course, but you simply can’t be a blood relation of this preposterous family.”
“It isn’t that I wanted to come. You know I hate having Christmas away from the children. But this year you did seem quite as keen as me.”
“Which isn’t saying very much, if you come to analyse it. And I won’t bring the brats here, even if your fond sister, Amy, would have them.”
“She mightn’t mind,” suggested Ruth, in the same indecisive voice.
“I daresay she’d be quite pleased. I’m sure she’d find excellent excuses to beat them within an hour of their arrival. Very badly brought up, our children are. It’s a pity she didn’t live in the days of Solomon. She might have been his thousand-and-first lady friend. She’d have carried out his precepts regarding the upbringing of children so well. No, I wouldn’t have them here for any bribe. Let them at all events preserve the illusion that
