Part 22 (2/2)
”Yes, in a way. Sorry he hadn't a nicer father to be sorry for.”
”What about ours?” Miriam asked.
”He may be dead, too, by now.”
”And that will matter less to us than old Halkett does to George.”
”But the great thing,” Helen said, ”is to have people one can't be ashamed of.”
”Oh!”
”I know; but it's true. And our father would always look nice and be polite, even when he was dying. Old Halkett--”
”Don't talk about him! Come along. We'll catch George on his way to that shop with the pictures of hea.r.s.es in the window. If I die before you, don't put me in one of those black carts.”
”I don't think I could put you into anything,” Helen said with simple fervour.
”Then you'd have to mummify me and stick me up in the hall beside the grandfather clock, and you'd think the ticking was my heart.”
”There are hearts beating all over the house now,” Helen said. ”But this is not meeting George,” she added, and rolled her sleeves down again.
They waylaid him successfully where the road met Halkett's lane, and from his horse he looked down on the two upturned faces.
”We've heard about Mr. Halkett,” Helen said, gazing with friendliness and without embarra.s.sment into his eyes. ”I suppose there's nothing we can do?”
”Nothing, thanks.”
”And Rupert said he would like to go to the funeral, if he may.”
”Thank you. I'll let him know about it.” He glanced at Miriam and hesitated, yet when he spoke it was in a franker voice than the one she was used to hear. ”I'm afraid you were upset last night.”
Her answering look made a pact between them. ”We didn't hear about it till this morning.”
He nodded, watching her through his thick lashes. He gave her a strong impression that he was despising her a little, and she saw him look from her to Helen as though he made comparisons. Indeed, at that moment, he thought that these sisters were like thirst and the means to quench it, like heat and shade; and a sudden restlessness made him s.h.i.+ft in his seat.
”I expect you have a lot to do,” Helen said. ”Good-bye.”
”Good-bye. And thank you,” he said gruffly, and caught the flash of Miriam's smile as he turned.
Helen stood looking after him. ”Poor George!” she said. ”I rather like him. I wish he wouldn't drink.”
”Exaggerated stories,” Miriam remarked neatly.
”Oh, yes, but he looks as if he had never had a chance of being nice.”
”I don't believe he has ever wanted one,” Miriam said.
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