v

With dinner came the other guest, cynically benevolent as ever; and the table in the big old-fashioned dining-room was a full one. At it there were three elderly people and three young ones; and, as if naturally, all the talking which was not done by Mrs. Mayne took place between Claudia and old Gaythorpe. They sparred on the best of terms, because there was a very pleasant feeling between them, and they were like partners in a game who knew each other's play. Mr. Mayne sat with fierce dignity at one end of the table, high above the heat of battle; and his wife, placidly nimble of brain, at the other, absorbed in it. Olivia blissfully enjoyed her dinner in a home-made frock, with hands that were reddened by house-work, and an inner happiness which caused her to accept every kindness with glee. Edgar, lazily listening to Claudia in combat with his old friend, was content to leave the conversation to them. And Claudia, who was full of spirits, was being agile and aggressive; and old Gaythorpe was in his own dry way being equally agile and aggressive. The motto of each was the same: "Never give your adversary a moment's peace."

"You seem to think that income tax is the only tax there is!" cried Claudia. "It's the rich man's tax, and always will be. If you were poor, and paid your taxation indirectly—"

"I do that as well, my dear Claudia. My sugar costs me—"

"Neither your sugar nor your coal!" she retorted.

"Indeed, yes."

"Our sugar doesn't. Nor our tea. Nor our coal. We buy in bulk. If you don't escape, it's by bad buying. We have tons of coal. Poor people buy in quarter-hundredweights, and pay fifty per cent more. A ha'porth of jam—you can't get ha'porths now, as it happens—multiplied many times makes much more a pot than you pay. Every necessary costs more."

"Is jam a necessary? I never eat it."

"Your pampered children do."

"Ah, my children. Yes.... Pampered indeed. I agree. The younger generation, of course. Take the cost of education, Claudia. What have I paid in school fees?"

"If the Council schools are all you say, they'd have been quite adequate."

"Your own dexterity isn't the fruit of the Council school," parried Gaythorpe.

"No; it's my own!" cried Claudia.

"Claudia, dear," objected Mrs. Mayne. "Your father and I can hardly be called ordinary people."

They all laughed at this simple interruption. Claudia was instantly deflated. She turned to Olivia.

"Are you going to give your babies any education?" she demanded.

"Well," said Olivia. "Peter doesn't think ordinary education is much good. He thinks it just spoils children to be taught by rote. But then he thinks that better education only teaches them to spend money—not to make it. He was at a public school himself."

"And is he well-educated?" pressed Claudia.

"Oh, he ... of course, he knows a lot. But it isn't very precise knowledge. He can't spell: he's never sure about words like 'separate' or 'receipt.' He's not very good at figures. I have to do the sums as a rule; but then of course that's just knack."

"Yes, and there's another thing!" Claudia, reminded by Olivia's admission as to figures, returned to her direct challenge. "Women!"

There was a general groan.

"He's very unsound there," interjected Edgar, cheerfully. "You'd better go no further."

"By the way, Olivia." Claudia was diverted from her argument. "Have you ever met an awful girl—an artist—called Amy Roberts?"

"O-oh!" exclaimed Olivia, in disgust. "Where on earth did you meet her?"

"At Patricia's—Patricia Quin's."

"Such a nice girl," said Mrs. Mayne, aside to Gaythorpe. "A friend of Edgar's."

Instantly Gaythorpe shot a glance of inexpressible malice at Edgar.

"Indeed," he said, politely. There was benign poison in his encouraging tone. He beamed upon Mrs. Mayne, hoping for further information about Edgar's friend, immediately recalling the Miss Fly-away of their conversation.

"Patricia Quin?" repeated Olivia, doubtfully. "Oh, a fair girl—. Isn't she Harry Greenlees's mistress?"

"No." Edgar did not hear himself speak.

"Who told you that?" indignantly cried Claudia. "It's scandalous!"

Olivia, disconcerted, tried to remember the name of her informant. The general distress was so obvious that she slightly reddened.

"Wait a minute," she said. "I'm sorry if I've said something I ought not to. I thought there wasn't any question about it. I think it was Blanche Tallentyre who told Peter."

"Well, it's not true!" cried Claudia. "What a beast Blanche Tallentyre must be. Have you ever met her, Edgar?"

Edgar, deeply moved, was staring at the table, his face stern. All their eyes were upon him. He had a remembered glimpse of an unhappy-looking woman across a dinner-table, of lips parted to speak, of a speech checked and an enmity formed in a single instant.

"Yes," he answered slowly. "At Monty's. Patricia was rude to her. That's the explanation. Not deliberately rude, but wounding. I saw that she felt vicious about it. But surely you don't accept anything she might say as probable, Olivia?"

"Perhaps not," Olivia agreed. "No: she isn't a nice woman. I suppose there's no doubt that she's Monty's mistress, herself."

"Dear, dear!" protested Mrs. Mayne. "It seems so horrible to have that word bandied about by nice young girls. It's such a pity. Don't you think so, Mr. Gaythorpe?"

"I quite agree with you, Mrs. Mayne," said the old man. "A great pity. A very great pity. And who—" he paused, speaking across the table to Edgar. "Who is Monty?"

"Monty Rosenberg." It was a chorus.

"Indeed. And is he a friend of yours, Edgar?"

Edgar's eyes met those of his tormentor very candidly across the table.

"Perhaps one could hardly call him a friend," he suavely replied.

"Ah," said Gaythorpe. "Perhaps a debtor?"

No reply was returned to his question, which had been hardly audible. Gaythorpe bit his lower lip. The rims of his glasses caught the light as he glanced aside. He was not, perhaps, altogether certain; but he thought he had made a very fair guess at the answers to two questions which for some time had been troubling him. He wondered whether Monty had ever asked for Edgar's help, and whether Patricia had ever refused it....