Part 35 (2/2)

”If you ask me,” said he, ”I think it's infamous.”

”Infamous,” Ingpen repeated the word savagely. ”There's no word for it.

What'll she do?”

”Well, I suppose she'll have to live with Johnnie.”

”And where will Mrs. Chris come in, then?” Ingpen asked in a murmur.

”Mrs. Chris Hamson?” exclaimed Edwin startled. ”Oh! Is that affair still on the carpet? ... Cheerful outlook!”

Ingpen pulled his beard.

”Anyhow,” said he, ”Johnnie's the most reliable of the crew. Charlie's the most agreeable, but Johnnie's the most reliable. I wouldn't like to count much on Tom, and as for Jimmie, well of course----!”

”I always look on Johnnie as a kid. Can't help it.”

”There's no law against that, so long as you don't go and blub it out to Mrs. Chris,” Ingpen laughed.

”I don't know her.”

”You ought to know her. She's an education, my boy.”

”I've been having a fair amount of education lately,” said Edwin. ”Only this afternoon I was practically told that I ought to give up the idea of my new works because it has risks and the Palace Porcelain Co. was risky and Janet hasn't a cent. See the point?”

He was obliged to talk about the affair, because it was heavily on his mind. A week earlier he had persuaded himself that the success of a marriage depended chiefly on the tone employed to each other by the contracting parties. But in the disturbing scene of the afternoon, his tone had come near perfection, and yet marriage presented itself as even more stupendously difficult than ever. Ingpen's answering words salved and strengthened him. The sensation of being comprehended was delicious. Intimacy progressed.

”I say,” said Edwin, as they parted. ”You'd better not know anything about all this when you come to-night.”

”Right you are, my boy.”

Their friends.h.i.+p seemed once more to be suddenly and surprisingly intensified.

When Edwin returned, Janet had vanished again. Like an animal which fears the hunt and whose shyness nothing can cure, she had fled to cover at the first chance. According to Hilda she had run home because it had occurred to her that she must go through her mother's wardrobe and chest of drawers without a moment's delay.

Edwin's account to his wife of the interview with Johnnie Orgreave was given on a note justifiably triumphant. In brief he had ”talked sense”

to Johnnie, and Johnnie had been convicted and convinced. Hilda listened with respectful propriety. Edwin said nothing as to his encounter with Tertius Ingpen, partly from prudence and partly from timidity. When Ingpen arrived at the house, much earlier than he might have been expected to arrive, Edwin was upstairs, and on descending he found his wife and his friend chatting in low and intimate voices close together in the drawing-room. The gas had been lighted.

”Here's Mr. Ingpen,” said Hilda, announcing a surprise.

”How do, Ingpen?”

”How do, Ed?”

Ingpen did not rise. Nor did they shake hands, but in the Five Towns friends who have reached a certain degree of intimacy proudly omit the ceremony of handshaking when they meet. It was therefore impossible for Hilda to divine that Edwin and Tertius had previously met that day, and apparently Ingpen had not divulged the fact. Edwin felt like a plotter.

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