Part 36 (1/2)

The conversation of course never went far away from the subject of the Orgreaves--and Janet in particular. Ingpen's indignation at the negligence which had left Janet in the lurch was more than warm enough to satisfy Hilda, whose grievance against the wicked carelessness of heads of families in general seemed to be approaching expression again.

At length she said:

”It's enough to make every woman think seriously of where she'd be--if anything happened.”

Ingpen smiled teasingly.

”Now you're getting personal.”

”And what if I am? With my headstrong husband going in for all sorts of schemes!” Hilda's voice was extraordinarily clear and defiant.

Edwin nervously rose.

”I'll just get some cigarettes,” he mumbled.

Hilda and Ingpen scarcely gave him any attention. Already they were exciting themselves. Although he knew that the supply of cigarettes was in the dining-room, he toured half the house before going there; and then lit the gas and with strange deliberation drew the blinds; next he rang the bell for matches, and, having obtained them, lit a cigarette.

When he re-entered the drawing-room, Ingpen was saying with terrific conviction:

”You're quite wrong, as I've told you before. It's your instinct that's wrong, not your head. Women will do anything to satisfy their instincts, simply anything. They'll ruin your life in order to satisfy their instincts. Yes, even when they know jolly well their instincts are wrong!”

Edwin thought:

”Well, if these two mean to have a row, it's no affair of mine.”

But Hilda, seemingly overfaced, used a very moderate tone to retort:

”You're very outspoken.”

Tertius Ingpen answered firmly:

”I'm only saying aloud what every man thinks.... Mind--every man.”

”And how comes it that _you_ know so much about women?”

”I'll tell you sometime,” said Ingpen, shortly, and then smiled again.

Edwin, advancing, murmured:

”Here. Have a cigarette.”

A few moments later Ingpen was sketching out a Beethoven symphony unaided on the piano, and holding his head back to keep the cigarette-smoke out of his eyes.

VI

When the hour struck for which Hilda had promised a sandwich supper Edwin and Tertius Ingpen were alone in the drawing-room, and Ingpen was again at the piano, apparently absorbed in harmonic inventions of his own. No further word had been said upon the subject of the discussion between Ingpen and Hilda. On the whole, despite the reserve of Hilda's demeanour, Edwin considered that marriage at the moment was fairly successful, and the stream of existence running in his favour. At five minutes after the hour, restless, he got up and said:

”I'd better be seeing what's happened to that supper.”