Devastation met Nan’s eyes when she hurried into her cottage. The white
lace curtains were torn from the windows and the pictures lay scattered
about the floor. Any ornament or attempt at decoration had been snatched
from its place and flung across the room. In the midst of this wreckage
stood Gregory, in his shirt sleeves, his chest heaving and his bronze
forehead shining with sweat. He held out to Nan a paper upon which he
had written, “_Plain deel tables and chairs is good enough for us,
without fal-lals._” She read it, and with tears running over her cheeks
knelt down to gather up her broken china, collecting the pieces tenderly
into the shreds of the curtains. Gregory came towards her and kicked the
things away from her hand. She knelt upon the floor, gazing up at him
without protest but with inexpressible sorrow. Every time she renewed
her gesture of gathering up the shares, he scattered them again by a
kick, until in discouragement she desisted, waiting for his next
manifestation. She dared not get up while he stood over her in his
threatening attitude.
Silas came in; Nan found herself turning to him as towards a friend.
Here, at least, was one who had some influence over Gregory! She felt
herself the alien before the brothers.
Silas was sympathetic. Silas commiserated. Let her go away for a little,
and he would soothe Gregory. Gregory had behaved like a peevish child.
He, Silas, would remonstrate. He even patted Nan’s shoulder kindly as
she passed him, drying her eyes, to leave the brothers together as she
was bid.