Norah looked up.
"What's the matter, Mother?"
Mrs. Pendyce was swaying. She recovered herself in a moment.
"Nothing, dear. It's very hot this morning, don't you think? I'll Just
go to my room and take some sal volatile."
She went out, followed by old Roy, the Skye; the spaniel John, who had
been cut off at the door by his master's abrupt exit, preceded her.
Norah and Bee pushed back their plates.
"I can't eat, Norah," said Bee. "It's horrible not to know what's going
on."
Norah answered
"It's perfectly brutal not being a man. You might just as well be a dog
as a girl, for anything anyone tells you!"
Mrs. Pendyce did not go to her room; she went to the library. Her
husband, seated at his table, had George's letter before him. A pen was
in his hand, but he was not writing.
"Horace," she said softly, "here is poor John!"
Mr. Pendyce did not answer, but put down the hand that did not hold his
pen. The spaniel John covered it with kisses.
"Let me see the letter, won't you?"
Mr. Pendyce handed it to her without a word. She touched his shoulder
gratefully, for his unusual silence went to her heart. Mr. Pendyce
took no notice, staring at his pen as though surprised that, of its own
accord, it did not write his answer; but suddenly he flung it down and
looked round, and his look seemed to say: 'You brought this fellow into
the world; now see the result!'
He had had so many days to think and put his finger on the doubtful
spots of his son's character.
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