Part 87 (2/2)

When he sat down he minutely changed the situation of nearly everything on the table, so that his magazine might be lodged at exactly the right distance and angle, and so that each necessary object might be quite handy. He was in luxury, and he yielded himself to it absolutely. The sense that unusual events were happening, that the course of social existence was disturbed while his comfort was not disturbed, that danger hung cloudy on the horizon--this sense somehow intensified the appreciation of the hour, and positively contributed to his pleasure.

Moreover, he was agreeably excited by a dismaying antic.i.p.ation affecting himself alone.

Two.

The door opened again, and Auntie Hamps was shown in by the servant.

Before he could move the old lady had with overwhelming sweet supplications insisted that he should not move--no, not even to shake hands! He rose only to shake hands, and then fell back into his comfort. Auntie Hamps fixed a chair for herself opposite him, and drummed her black-gloved hands on the white table-cloth. She was steadily becoming stouter, and those chubby little hands seemed impossibly small against the vast mountain of fur which was crowned by her smirking crimson face and the supreme peak of her bonnet.

”They keep very friendly--those two,” she remarked, with a strangely significant air, when he told her where Maggie was. She had shown no surprise at finding him alone, for the reason that she had already learnt everything from the servant in the hall.

”Janet and Maggie? They're friendly enough when they can be of use to each other.”

”How kind Miss Janet was when your father was ill! I'm sure Maggie feels she must do all she can to return her kindness,” Mrs Hamps murmured, with emotion. ”I shall always be grateful for her helpfulness! She's a grand girl, a grand girl!”

”Yes,” said Edwin awkwardly.

”She's still waiting for you,” said Mrs Hamps, not archly, but sadly.

Edwin restively poohed. At the first instant of her arrival he had been rather glad to see her, for unusual events create a desire to discuss them; but if she meant to proceed in that strain unuttered curses would soon begin to acc.u.mulate for her in his heart.

”I expect the kid must be pretty bad,” he said.

”Yes,” sighed Mrs Hamps. ”And probably poor Mrs Orgreave is more in the way than anything else. And Mr Orgreave only just out of bed, as you may say! ... That young lady must have her hands full! My word!

What a blessing it is she has made such friends with Maggie!”

Mrs Hamps had the peculiar gift, which developed into ever-increasing perfection as her hair grew whiter, of being able to express ideas by means of words which had no relation to them at all. Within three minutes, by three different remarks whose occult message no stranger could have understood but which forced itself with unpleasant clearness upon Edwin, Mrs Hamps had conveyed, ”Janet Orgreave only cultivates Maggie because Maggie is the sister of Edwin Clayhanger.”

”You're all very devoted to that child,” she said, meaning, ”There is something mysterious in that quarter which sooner or later is bound to come out.” And the meaning was so clear that Edwin was intimidated.

What did she guess? Did she know anything? To-night Auntie Hamps was displaying her gift at its highest.

”I don't know that Maggie's so desperately keen on the infant!” he said.

”She's not like you about him, that's sure!” Mrs Hamps admitted. And she went on, in a tone that was only superficially casual, ”I wonder the mother doesn't come down to him!”

Not 'his' mother--'the' mother. Odd, the effect of that trifle! Mrs Hamps was a great artist in phrasing.

”Oh!” said Edwin. ”It's not serious enough for that.”

”Well, I'm not so sure,” Auntie Hamps gravely replied. ”The Vicar is dead.”

The emphasis which she put on these words was tremendous.

”Is he,” Edwin stammered. ”But what's that got to do with it?”

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