Ruth thought of her babies, aged seven and four. They would be asleep long ago, and she was jealous of Emily, Miles’s sister, who would have them for the three days of the holiday. They’d be lying in their blue-and-white striped pyjamas, excited and longing for the morning, Moira a little sophisticated and less ready than formerly to believe in visions and the sudden appearances of angels, but Pat still prepared at any moment to greet them, in classic robes of pink and blue, with haloes like gold soup-plates; or even the entire Holy Family peering out of the dark. It would neither have surprised nor alarmed her; just another instance of the fun and splendour that was her present conception of life.
Both had heart-shaped faces and short bright hair and were busy throughout the day with a grave intentness that charmed their parents. The beautiful solemnity and eagerness of their bearing as they mapped out a route for a picnic or arranged a dolls’ tea-party or baptism touched Miles as being extraordinarily lovely, so that he resented the more being separated from them at such an important time.
He came at length out of his brown study to observe in troubled tones, “As a fact, I only agreed to come down this year because of Brand.”
“Brand?” She made no attempt to conceal her surprise. “I didn’t know you were specially friendly with him.”
“I’m not. But I happened to be visiting in his part of the world the other day, and I met a man who knows him in a spasmodic sort of fashion. Brand has so few friends because that wife of his makes his home life so impossible. This fellow, Day, told me that there are people round there who would like to know Brand better, but the circumstances and the character of that appalling woman he’s married put anything like intimacy out of the question. I shouldn’t shout it from the housetops, but I believe the average decent chap is afraid of going into Brand’s house uninvited, because he isn’t sure whether he may not find himself alone with Sophy, and she’s up to any game. Well, there seems to be a rumour that he’s declared he won’t stay there any longer; he’s going to clear out and the others can fend for themselves. I don’t suppose he would actually do that—it would be a bit difficult, because legally they’re all his children, though rumour has some very odd stories to tell about them—but I shouldn’t be at all surprised to know that he came down here in the hopes of getting his father to help him to get away.”
“I don’t for a moment suppose father would do anything of the kind.”
“And yet it might be the best thing for everyone. It would certainly be the best thing for Brand. As for that woman, she’d soon find someone else to keep her, and she’ll train those children to look after themselves. The eldest, Margot, can’t be more than ten years old, but she’s no little innocent. She’ll know her way about almost as well as her mother by the time she’s fifteen. And it would unquestionably remove a very dubious acquisition from our midst. After all, I suppose all those children are your nieces.”
“And if Richard gets his title and doesn’t achieve a family, Ferdinand—did you ever hear such a name for a Fulham baby?—will be Lord Tomnoddy in due course. I wonder if Richard’s thought of that?”
“If he hasn’t, some member of your amiable family is quite certain to point it out to him. I shouldn’t trouble, if I were you.”
“But you, Miles, why did you say you’d come down? What can you do?”
“I daresay I can’t do anything, but I don’t think Brand detests me quite so much as the rest of the family, and I’m really holding a watching brief for him, to prevent, if I can, anything too frightful happening. I feel that nothing would be too fantastic, considering the atmosphere of this place, and the people gathered under its roof. Between ourselves, I shan’t be at all surprised if something tragic takes place before we get away. We’ve all the ingredients for a first-class explosion, and if it blows the place clean out of the ground, so much the better.”
Ruth said uncertainly, with the haphazard impulsiveness that marked her younger child, “I suppose, if we got up now, there wouldn’t be a train we could catch? I don’t know why it is, but suddenly I feel as if I couldn’t stay here. I don’t always believe you, but there’s something prophetic in your speech to-night. I believe there will be something horrible…”
“It won’t be any less horrible because we’ve run away from it. No, we shall have to stay here. Besides, there’s Brand. There are the others, too, but I don’t give a flip of the fingers for them. Their trouble is money in its most sordid aspect. Brand’s different. He’s paying in compound interest for a stupid mistake he made a dozen years ago. And he’s got something rare which I don’t believe any of you have recognised. It’s burning still, through all his disillusion and despair. He’s in the wrong place, and of course he’s making hay of his life. If he could be got out, it might be the saving of him. There’s something in Brand that’s valuable, that mustn’t be allowed to go to waste. If something isn’t done soon, there’ll be a worse tragedy than anything that happens here to-night.”
“I didn’t know you felt like that about him,” marvelled Ruth, her dark eyes grave, her face, like her elder daughter’s, perplexed and enquiring.
“It isn’t Brand himself—not the individual he represents, I mean;
