"I've never had a system for him. I'm no
believer in systems! I don't know what you're talking of. I have another
son, thank God!"
Mrs. Pendyce took a step forward.
"Horace," she said, "you would never----"
Mr. Pendyce turned from his wife, and said sharply:
"Paramor, are you sure I can't cut the entail?"
"As sure," said Mr. Paramor, "as I sit here!"
CHAPTER IX
DEFINITION OF "PENDYCITIS"
Gregory walked long in the Scotch garden with his eyes on the
stars. One, larger than all the rest, over the larches, shone on him
ironically, for it was the star of love. And on his beat between the
yew-trees that, living before Pendyces came to Worsted Skeynes, would
live when they were gone, he cooled his heart in the silver light of
that big star. The irises restrained their perfume lest it should whip
his senses; only the young larch-trees and the far fields sent him their
fugitive sweetness through the dark. And the same brown owl that had
hooted when Helen Bellew kissed George Pendyce in the conservatory
hooted again now that Gregory walked grieving over the fruits of that
kiss.
His thoughts were of Mr. Barter, and with the injustice natural to a man
who took a warm and personal view of things, he painted the Rector in
colours darker than his cloth.
'Indelicate, meddlesome,' he thought.
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