“Let them build somewhere else,” Piers said hotly. “There’s plenty of room.”
“If Mr. Clapperton builds a lot of houses next door to us,” said Adeline, “Daddy will pull them down with his own hands. And I’ll help him.”
“Mrs. Clapperton will never let him do it,” declared Pheasant. “She has the upper hand, it’s easy to see.”
Adeline stood up very straight. “I’m going home,” she said, “to tell Daddy and the uncles.”
The baby girl clung to her. “No, no, Adeline stay with Mary!”
“I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Stay to supper,” urged Piers.
“I’ll stay tomorrow, if I may.”
Driving to Jalna Maurice said petulantly, — “Why did they have to come home, just when we were enjoying ourselves alone!” He had a feeling that if he had been left alone with Adeline the barrier that separated them might have disappeared. He had many opportunities of being alone with her yet always experienced the same feeling of frustration, of inability to draw spiritually close to her. Sometimes he told himself that this would be forever impossible, that they never could be more to each other than they now were — cousins — friends — but lovers, never. Sometimes he told himself that the trouble lay in her youth. She was, in many ways, young for her years, while he felt himself more mature than his parents. Yet he knew that in their eyes he had not touched even the fringe of experience. He knew that to Piers he was no more than a callow, rather irritating youth, to Pheasant her little son, growing up, of course, but still her little son. One thing Maurice was sure of — Adeline would never grow up in the way he wanted her to while she lived at Jalna. He was the outsider and he wanted to draw her outside with him. If he could take her to Ireland with him everything would be different. She wanted, with all her might, to go to Ireland — but not for the sake of making anything different.
In the drawing-room, with the curtains drawn against the evening. Renny and the two old uncles sat close together in front of the fire whose light made a fragile cameo of Ernest’s face, mysterious caverns of Nicholas’ eyes, glinted on his massive seal ring and intensified the high-coloured hardiness of Renny’s face, Adeline stood regarding the three with the sombre look of one who bore tidings which would take the smiles from their faces.
“Mr. Clapperton,” she said, “is at it again.”
“At what?” demanded all three.
“His village. Uncle Piers and Auntie Pheasant just came from his house and he told her he’s getting on with it in the spring.”
Ernest struck the arm of his chair with a slender clenched fist.
“He can’t do it,” he said, his voice breaking with anger. “I will not allow it!”
Nicholas cupped an ear with his hand. “What’s this?” he demanded. “What’s that horrid old fellow up to? Ill-treating his poor young wife, I’ll be bound.”
Adeline came and perched on the arm of his chair. “No, Uncle Nick — something far worse. He’s talking of building more bungalows. His model village, you know.”
“But we stopped that years ago.”
Renny gave a short laugh. “He perennially brings up the subject, but his wife will never let him go on with it. He’s completely under her thumb.”
“And the right place for him, too,” said Nicholas.
“I shouldn’t be too sure of that,” Ernest said judicially. “I should look into the matter. Tell him I will not allow it.
“A lot he cares for you,” chuckled his brother.
“He has the greatest respect for my opinion, as he has told me on more than one occasion.”
“It was a bad day for everyone when he came into the neighbourhood,” said Renny. “I hate the sight of him. I think I’ll go straight over and see him.”
III
A TRIO AT HOME
After Piers and his wife had left Vaughanlands the three people who made up the family sat silent for a short while, each occupied with thoughts which their calm exteriors belied. Eugene Clapperton, grey-haired, rigid, thought — “Why did I tell Mrs. Whiteoak I was going to start building again? Gem would never agree to it. But I had to tell her. It made me feel better. It made me feel my own master again. And certainly if I want to realize my life’s dream I’ll not let her prevent it. God, when I think what I’ve done for her — and her ingratitude! It makes me sick. To think she wouldn’t have been able to take a step today, if it hadn’t been for me! Look at the luxury I keep her in, and she was poor as a church mouse. If only I knew what is in that head of hers! Ingratitude and conceit. You’d think she owned the house. She likes to put me in the wrong — make me look small.… If only I didn’t love her it wouldn’t be so bad! But she’ll try me too far.… There’s a limit even to my endurance.” He sat smiling a little, his eyes blank, his thin ankles interlocked against the front of his chair.
His wife thought, — “What was he whispering to Pheasant? Some foolish boasting I’m very sure. But she seemed worried by it. What could it have been that would make her look anxious? I wish he would go and leave the fire to Althea and me. His presence in the room irritates me. The way he holds his legs. The way he keeps rubbing the back of one hand with the dry palm of the other.… Yet, if his hands were moist — how horrible I dislike Eugene’s hands. The fingers are too short for his height. The thumb is coarse…. When I have him alone I will worm out of him what he was saying to Pheasant Whiteoak.
Althea, fair and ethereally slender, sat watching a dark corner of the room. She was thinking, — “I believe I heard the tortoise move. How thrilling if he’s awake! I’m glad I brought him into this warm room. He has slept long enough. This is just the place for him. As far as I’m concerned it’s my favourite room in the house and I could make it beautiful, if I could get rid of those hideous pictures of Eugene’s and put up some good ones. That fat man knitting. That shipwreck off an incredible coast. Those cows in that repulsive meadow. I should burn them all! And Eugene with them!” She gave a little laugh.
“And what do you find amusing, may I enquire?” asked her brother-in-law.
“The tortoise. He’s waking. Don’t you hear him?” A steady thumping and bumping came from a small wooden box at the end of the room.
“You have brought that creature into the best room!” Eugene Clapperton exclaimed angrily.
“It’s the best room for him. It faces south. It’s always warm. He’s been cold long enough.”
“I don’t like it at all.”
Althea turned to her sister. “The tortoise does no harm, does he?”
“Not a bit of harm. I adore him.”
The two young women sprang up and hurried to the box where the bumping continued, Althea with long, silent steps, Gemmel making sharp sounds with her high heels. They bent over the box where convulsive movements were taking place inside a piece of flannel. Althea tenderly unwrapped the creature. From between his shells his greenish legs stretched forth, feeling for security. His little snakelike head protruded, his mouth stretched in a pink yawn. He was the size of a tea plate.
“Oh, the darling!” cried Gemmel.
Althea held him rapturously in her long white hands.
“You have slept so long,” she whispered to him, “and now you are hungry. You shall have a dandelion. I have them growing in a box upstairs. Watch him, Gem, while I fly up and get him one.”
Noiselessly she left the room and they did not hear her run up the stairs. She had set the tortoise on the floor and now he began, with prehistoric deliberation,