PETER UNDERSTANDS
On the shores of the Lido, three days later, Peter and Leslie came upon
Denis Urquhart. He was lying on the sand in the sun on the Adriatic side,
and building St. Mark's, rather well. Peter stood and looked at it
critically.
"Not bad. But you'd better let us help you. We've been studying the
original exhaustively, Leslie and I."
"A very fine and remarkable building," said Leslie, ponderously, and
Peter laughed for the sheer pleasure of seeing Urquhart's lazy length
stretched on the warm sand.
"Cheriton's somewhere about," said Urquhart. "But he wouldn't help me
with St. Mark's. He was all for walking round the island at a great pace
and seeing how long it took him. So superfluously energetic, isn't he?
Fancy being energetic in Venice."
Peter was thankful that he was. The thought of Cheriton's eyes upon him
made him shudder.
"He has his good points," Urquhart added; "but he excites himself too
much. Always taking up some violent crusade against something or other.
Can't live and let live. Another dome here, I think."
Peter wondered if Cheriton's latest crusade was against Hilary's taste
in art, and if so what Urquhart thought on that subject. It was an
uncomfortable thought. He characteristically turned away from it.
"The intense blue of the sea, contrasted with the fainter blue of the
Euganean Hills," said Leslie suddenly, "is most remarkable and beautiful.
What?"
He was proud of having noticed that. He was always proud of noticing
beauty unaided. He made his remark with the simple pleasure of a child
in his own appreciation. His glance at Peter said, "I am getting on, I
think?"
The others agreed that he was correct. He then bent his great mind to the
completion of St. Mark's, and Urquhart discovered what Peter had long
known, that he could really play in earnest. The reverse art--handling
serious issues with a light touch--he was less good at. Grave subjects,
like the blue of the sea or the shape of a goblet, he approached with the
same solidity of earnestness which he brought to bear on sand cathedrals.
It was just this that made him a little tiring.
But the three together on the sands made a happy and congruous party of
absorbed children, till Cheriton the energetic came swinging back over
the sand-hills. Peter saw him approaching, watched the resolute lunge
of his stride. His mother was about to be married for the third time: one
could well believe it.
"I hope he is going to be nicer to me to-day," Peter thought. Even as he
hoped it, and before Cheriton saw the party on the sands, Peter saw the
determined face stiffen, and into the vivid eyes came the blank look of
one who is cutting somebody. Peter turned and looked behind him to see
who it was, and saw Mr. Guy Vyvian approaching. It was obvious from his
checked recognition that he thought he knew Cheriton, and that Cheriton
did not share the opinion. Peter saw Vyvian's mortified colour rise; he
was a vain and sensitive person.
Cheriton came and sat down among them. His words as he did so, audibly
muttered, were, "The most unmitigated cad!" He looked angry. Then he saw
Peter, and seemed a little surprised, but did not cut him; he hardly
could. Peter supposed that he owed this only to the accident of
Urquhart's presence, since this young man seemed to go about the world
ignoring everyone who did not please his fastidious fancy, and Peter
could not hope that he had done that.
Peter looked after Vyvian's retreating figure. He could detect injured
pride in his back.
He got up and brushed the sand from him.
"I must go and talk to that man," he said. "He's lodging with my
brother."
The situation for a moment was slightly difficult. Leslie and Urquhart
had both heard Cheriton's description of Peter's brother's lodger.
Besides, they had seen him, and that was enough.
It was unlike Peter to make awkward situations. He ended this one
abruptly by leaving it to itself, and walking away after his brother's
lodger.
Vyvian greeted him huffily. It needed all Peter's feeling for a hurt man
to make him anything but distantly aloof. Cheriton's description was so
manifestly correct. The man was a cad--an oily bounder with a poisonous
mind. Peter wondered how Hilary could bear to have his help on the Gem.
Vyvian broke out about Cheriton.
"Did you see that grand fellow who was too proud to know me? Driven you
away too, has he? We don't know people in boarding-houses--we're in our
private flat ourselves! It makes me sick!"
But his vulgarity when he was angry was a shade less revolting, because
more excusable, than when he wasn't. So Peter bore it, and even tried to
be comforting, and to talk about pictures. Vyvian really knew something
about art; Peter was a little surprised to find that he knew so much,
remembering certain curious blunders of his in the Gem.
He did not talk about the Gem to Vyvian; instinctively he avoided it.
Peter had a rather useful power of barring his mind against thoughts that
he did not desire to have there; without reasoning about it, he had
placed the Gem in this category.
He was absently watching the dim blue of the Euganean Hills against the
clearer blue of the sky when he discovered that Vyvian was talking about
Rhoda Johnson.
"A dear little gurl, with real possibilities, if one could develop them.
I do my best. She's fond enough of me to let me mould her atrocious
taste. But what can one do to fight the lifelong influence of a home like
that--a mother like that? Oh, frightful! But she _is_ fond of me, and
there's her hope--"
"Good-bye," said Peter. "I must go." He could not for the life of him
have said any of the other things he was thinking. He would have given
a lot to have been Cheriton for the moment, so that he wouldn't mind
being rude and violent. It was horribly feeble; all he could say was
"Good-bye." Having said it, he went abruptly.
He sighed as he went back to Urquhart and Leslie. Things were so
difficult to manage. One left one's friends to comfort a hurt bounder;
that was all very well, but what if the bounder comforted was much more
offensive than the bounder hurt? However, it was no good reasoning about
these things. Peter knew that one had to try and cheer up the hurt, in
the face of all reason, simply because one felt so uncomfortable
oneself if one didn't.
But it was almost worth while to have a few rather revolting people
about; they threw the others into such glorious relief. As long as there
were the nice people, who laughed at life and themselves, playing about
the world, nothing else in particular mattered. And it was really
extraordinarily good luck that Urquhart should happen to be playing about
Venice at the same time as Peter. In spite of Cheriton, they would have
a good time together. And Cheriton would perhaps become friendly in
time--dear Jim, with his queer manners. People mostly did become
friendly, in quite a short time, according to Peter's experience.
That the time, as far as Cheriton was concerned, had not yet arrived, was
rather obvious, however. His manners to Peter on the sands were still
quite queer--so queer that Peter and Leslie only stayed a few minutes
more. Peter refused Urquhart's suggestion that they should have tea
together on the island, and they crossed over to the lagoon side and got
into their waiting gondola.
The lagoon waters were smooth like glass, and pale, and unflushed as yet
with the coming sunset. Dark lines of stakes marked the blue ship-ways
that ran out to open sea, and down them plied the ships, spreading
painted wings to the evening breeze.
Leslie said, "I see in the Gem that there is a good old well-head to be
had from a man on the Riva Ca' di Dio. I want well-heads, as you know.
We'll go and see, shall we?"
The crystal peace of the lagoon was shattered for Peter. He had been
getting into a curious mood of late; he almost disliked well-heads, and
other purchasable forms of beauty. After all, when one had this limpid
loveliness of smooth water and men walking on its surface like St. Peter,
why want anything more? Because, Leslie would say, one wants to possess,
to call beauty one's own. Bother, said Peter, the vice of the age, which
was certainly acquisitiveness. He was coming to the conclusion that he
hated buying things. And it was so awkward to explain to Leslie about
Hilary and the Gem. He had spent the last few days in trying, without too
much giving Hilary away, to restrain Leslie from following his advice. He
said now, "All right; we'll go and see. But, to say the truth, I'm not
sure that Hilary is a very good authority on well-heads." He blushed a
little as he said it; it seemed to him that he had been saying that sort
of thing very often of late. Leslie was so persistent, so incorrigibly
intent on his purpose.
Leslie looked at him now over his large cigar a little speculatively.
"According to you," he remarked placidly after a moment, "your brother
is uncommonly little of an authority on anything he mentions. Fraternal
scepticism developed to its highest point."
Peter nodded. "Our family way," he said; and added, "Besides, that Vyvian
man does as much of the Gem as Hilary. There's a young man, Leslie! My
word, what a dog! Talks about gurls. So I left him. I turned upon him and
said, 'Sir, this is no talk for a gentleman to listen to.' I said it
because I knew it was what he would expect. Then I turned on my heel
and left him without a word. He ground his teeth and hissed, 'A time will
come.' But Cheriton seems rather a rude man, all the same. He hurts my
feelings too, whenever I meet him. I too hiss, 'A time will come.' But
I don't believe it ever will. Do you suppose the water is shallow over
there, or that the men walking on it are doing miracles? It must be fun,
either way. Let's do it instead of buying well-heads, Leslie. The fact
is, buying so many things is rather demoralising, I think. Let's decide
to buy no more. I'm beginning to believe in the simple life, like Rodney.
Rodney hates men like you and Urquhart--rolling plutocrats. He wanted me
to leave you and the other plutocrats and be a travelling pedlar. I'm not
sure that I shan't, before long."
"Can't spare you," Leslie grunted.
Peter flattered himself that he had successfully turned the conversation
from well-heads.
When, after having tea with Leslie at Florian's, he returned to the
Palazzo Amadeo, Teresina told him that someone had called to see the
Signore, and the Signore, being out, was waiting in the saloon. Peter
went to the saloon to see if he would do instead of the Signore, and
found a stout gentleman with a black moustache and up-brushed hair,
spitting on the saloon floor. A revolting habit, as Hilary was wont
wearily to remark; but Peter always accepted it with anyhow outward
equanimity.
"My brother is unfortunately away from the house," he explained, with
his polite smile and atrocious Italian. "But perhaps I can give him a
message?"
The visitor gave him a sharp look, bowed ceremoniously, and said, "Ah!
The Signore is the brother of Signor Margerison? Truly the brother?"
Peter assured him, not even halving the relationship; and indeed, he
seldom did that, even in his thoughts.
The visitor gave him a card, bearing the name of Signor Giacomo Stefani,
sat down, at Peter's request, spat between his feet, and said, "I have
had various affairs with your Signor brother before. I am come to solicit
his patronage in the matter of a pair of vases. If he would recommend
them for me in his paper, as before. They are good; they might easily be
antiques."
"You wish my brother to mention them in his paper?" Peter gathered. He
was correct.
"Exactly so," Signor Stefani told him. "Of course, on the same terms as
before, if the Signor would be satisfied with them."
"Terms?" Peter repeated after him.
Signor Stefani became more explicit. He named the terms.
"That was what I paid Signor Margerison before, for an article on a
pseudo-Sienese chalice. But the vases are better; they are good; they
might deceive an expert. Truly, they might be antiques!"
He continued to talk, while Peter listened. He was taking it in rather
slowly. But at last, not being stupid, he no longer thought Hilary so. He
understood.
He stood up presently, looking a little dazed.
"It appears," he said slowly, in his broken Italian, to Signor Stefani,
"that you are making a rather bad mistake, which is a pity. I think you
had better go home."
Signor Stefani gave a startled upward twist to his moustache, and stood
up too.
"Excuse me," he said rather angrily, "there is no mistake. Your brother
and I have very frequently had affairs together."
Peter looked at him, frowning doubtfully as he collected his words.
"I am right, I think," he said slowly, "that you are offering my brother
a bribe to publish a fraudulent article on fraudulent goods of yours?
That is so? Then, as I said, you are making a very serious mistake,
and ... and you had better go home. Will you come this way, please?"
Signor Stefani continued to talk, but so rapidly and loudly now that
Peter couldn't follow him. He merely shook his head and opened the door,
saying, "This way, please. I can't understand you when you talk so fast."
Signor Stefani, with a final angry shrug and expectoration, permitted
himself to be ushered out of the room.
On the stairs outside they met Vyvian coming up, who nodded affably to
both of them. Signor Stefani, as he passed, shrugged his shoulders up to
his ears and spread his two hands wide, with a look of resigned despair
over his shoulder at Peter, and Vyvian's brows went up at the gesture.
Peter ushered his guest out at the street entrance. Signor Stefani's last
words were, "I shall return shortly and see your brother in person. I
have made a foolish mistake in thinking that you were in his confidence.
Good evening."
So they parted, more in sorrow than in anger.
Peter met Vyvian again on the stairs. He was passing on, but Vyvian
stopped and said, "What have you been doing to Stefani to put him out
so?"
Peter stopped and looked at him for a moment. He felt rather dazed, as
if someone had hit him a blow on the head. He had to remember what was
this funny bounder's place in the newly-revealed scheme of things. Not
merely a funny bounder after all, it seemed, but just what Cheriton had
called him. But one couldn't let him know that one thought so; one was
ostensibly on Hilary's side, against honesty, against decency, against
all the world.
So Peter, having located Vyvian and himself in this matter, said nothing
at all, but went on upstairs.
Vyvian, staring after him in astonishment (none of Hilary's boarders had
seen Peter discourteous before), raised his eyebrows again, and whistled
beneath his breath.
"So we're too fine for our brother's dirty jobs! I'm dashed if I don't
believe it's that!"
Peter went upstairs rather too quickly for his heart. He returned to the
saloon and collapsed suddenly into a chair, feeling giddy. Mrs. Johnson
came in a moment later and found him leaning back with closed eyes. She
was disturbed about his complexion.
"The colour of putty, poor Mr. Peter! You've bin excitin' yourself,
tearin' about sight-seein', _I_ know. Tell me now just how you feel. I'm
blest if I don't believe you've a-bin in the Cathedral, smellin' at that
there choky incense! It takes me like that, always; and Miss Gould says
she's just the same. Funny feelin's within, haven't you now?"
"Yes," said Peter, "just exactly that"; and they so overcame him that he
began to laugh helplessly.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnson," he said presently. "I'm an ass. But I'm all
right now. I came upstairs in a hurry, that's all. And before that a man
talked so loud and so fast that it took my breath away. It may be silly,
but I _am_ like that, as Miss Barnett says. My brother and sister-in-law
are both out, aren't they?"
Mrs. Johnson, sitting down opposite him and studying the returning tints
of his complexion, nodded.
"That's it," she said, more cheerfully. "You're gettin' a wholesome white
again now. I didn't like that unhealthy greeny-grey. But you've none of
you any colour, you gentlemen--not you nor your brother nor that pasty
Vyvian. None of you but the little curate; he had a nice little pink
face. I'm sure I wish some gals cared more for looks, and then they
wouldn't go after some as are as well let alone." This cryptic remark was
illuminated by a sigh. Mrs. Johnson, now that she saw Peter improving in
complexion, reverted to her own troubles.
Peter replied vaguely, "No, I suppose they wouldn't. People ought to
care for looks, of course. They matter so much more than anything else,
really."
"Without goin' all that way with you, Mr. Peter," said Mrs. Johnson, "and
with all due respect to Great Minds (which I haven't got and never shall
have, and nor had my poor dear that's gone, so I'm sure I don't know
where Rhoder got her leanin's from), I will say I do like to see a young
man smart and well-kept. It means a respect for himself, not to mention
for those he takes out, that is a stand-by, at least for a mother. And
the young fellows affect the gals, too. Rhoder, now--she'd take some
pains with herself if she went out with a smart fellow, that was nicely
turned out himself and expected her to be the same. But as it is--hair
dragged and parted like a queer picture, and a string of green beads for
a collar, as if she was a Roman with prayers to say--and her waist, Mr.
Peter! But there, I oughtn't to talk like this to a gentleman, as Miss
Gould would say; (I do keep on shockin' Miss Gould, you know!) But I find
it hard to rec'lect that about you, Mr. Peter; you're so sympathetic, you
might be a young lady. An' I feel it's all safe with you, an' I do
believe you'd help me if you could."
"I should be glad to," said Peter, wondering whether it was for the
improvement of Rhoda's hair, waist, or collar that his assistance might
be acceptable.
Mrs. Johnson was looking at him very earnestly; it was obvious that
something was seriously amiss, and that she was wondering how much she
could venture to say to this sympathetic young man who might be a
young lady. She made a sudden gesture with her stout hands, as if
flinging reticence to the winds, and leant forward towards him.
"Mr. Peter ... I don't hardly like to say it ... but could you take my
gal out sometimes? It does sound a funny thing to ask--but I can't abide
it that she should be for ever with that there Vyvian. I don't like him,
and there it is. And Rhoder does ... And he's just amusin' himself, and
I can't bear it for my little gal, that's where it is.... Mr. Peter, I
hate the fellow, though you may say I'm no Christian for it, and of
course one is bidden not to judge but to love all men. But he fair gives
me the creeps, like a toad.... Do you know that feelin'?"
"Oh, yes," said Peter readily. "And of course, I should like immensely to
go out with Miss Rhoda sometimes, if she'll let me. But do you think she
will? I'm afraid she would be dreadfully bored with me. I haven't a Great
Mind, you know."
"Rhoder likes you," said Mrs. Johnson, a smile of relief overspreading
her jolly face. "She was sayin' so only the other day. She has a great
respect for your knowledge of art, too. 'You wouldn't think it just to
talk with him,' she said, 'but he knows the most surprisin' things. Knows
them for himself'--that was how she put it--'without needin' to depend on
any books, or what anyone else says. I wish I was like that, mother,' she
says, and sighs. And of course, I knew why she wished that, and I said to
her, 'Rhoder, my dear, never you mind about knowin' things; gals don't
need to bother their heads about that. You look after the _outside_ of
your head,' I said, chaffing her about her hair, you know, 'and leave the
inside to look after itself.' I made her cross, of course; I'm for ever
makin' Rhoder cross without meanin' it. But that just shows what she
feels towards you, you see. And you'd talk healthy-like to her, which
is more than some does, if I know anythin'. One feels that of you, Mr.
Peter, if you'll excuse my sayin' it, that your talk is as innocent as
a baby's prattle, though it mayn't always mean much."
"Thank you very much," said Peter. "I will certainly prattle to Miss
Rhoda whenever she will let me. I should enjoy it, of course."
"Then that's settled." Mrs. Johnson rose, and shook out her skirts with
relief. "And a weight off my mind it will be.... You could make a third
with Rhoder and that Vyvian to-morrow afternoon, if you were so good and
not otherwise employed. They're off together somewhere, I know."
"Making a third" was a little beyond even Peter's readiness to be
helpful, and he looked dubious.
"I wonder if Mr. Vyvian would let me do that. You see, he doesn't much
like me. I expect I give him the creeps, like a toad...." Then, seeing
Mrs. Johnson's relieved face cloud, he added, "Oh, well, I'll ask them to
take me," and she smiled at him as at a good child. "I knew you would!"
Hilary didn't come in to dinner. That was as well; it gave Peter more
time. Perhaps it would be easier late at night to speak of the hopeless,
weary, impossible things that had suddenly risen in the way; easier to
think of things to say about them that wouldn't too much hurt Hilary or
himself.
At dinner Peter was very quiet and polite to everyone. Vyvian's demeanour
towards him was touched with irony; his smile was a continual reference
to the fellowship of secrecy that bound them. Rhoda was very silent;
Peter supposed that Vyvian had been snubbing her.
Hilary came home late. Peter and Peggy and Vyvian were sitting in the
dimly-lighted saloon, and the ubiquitous Illuminato was curled up, a
sleepy ball, on the marble top of a book-case. Peggy had a habit of
leaving him lying about in convenient corners, as a little girl her doll.
"You look tired to death, my dear," she commented, as Hilary came in. Her
kindly grey eyes turned from him to Peter, who had looked up from the
book he was reading with a nervous movement. Peter's sweet-tempered
companionableness had been oddly obscured this evening. Perhaps he too
was tired to death. And poor little Rhoda had been so unmercifully
snubbed all the evening that at last she had crept up to bed all but in
tears. Peggy felt very sorry for everyone to-night; they all seemed to
need it so much.
Vyvian, as usual, had a headache. When Hilary came in, he rose and said
he was going upstairs to try and get some sleep--an endeavour seldom
successful in this noisy and jarring world, one gathered. Before he
embarked on it he said to Peter, squirting soda into a large tumbler
of whisky, "Stefani want anything particular to-day?"
He had waited to say it till Hilary came in. Peter supposed that he said
it merely out of his general desire to be unpleasant, and perhaps to
revenge himself for that unanswered enquiry on the stairs. Or possibly he
merely wished to indicate to Peter how entirely he was privy to Stefani's
business with Hilary, and that it might just as well be discussed in his
presence. Or again, he might be desirous of finding out how far Peter
himself was in the know.
Peter said, "Nothing very particular," and bent over Illuminato, that
he might not meet Hilary's eyes or Peggy's. He knew that Hilary was
violently startled, and he heard Peggy's softly let out breath, that
might have been a sigh or a gentle whistle, and that conveyed in either
case dismay touched with a laugh.
Vyvian, who had been watching the three with a covert smile, drained his
glass and said, "Well, it's supposed to be partly my business, you know.
But since you don't think so, I'll say good-night."
He included the three in a supercilious nod, and left the room.
He left a queer silence behind him. When it had lasted for a moment,
Peter looked up from his inspection of Illuminato's screwed-up face, with
an effort, and met Hilary's eyes searching his own. Peggy was in the
background; later she would be a comforting, easing presence; but for the
moment the situation held only these two, and Peter's eyes pleaded to
Hilary's, "Forgive me; I am horribly sorry," and in Hilary's strained
face shame intolerably grew, so that Peter looked away from it, bending
over Illuminato in his arms.
It was Peggy who broke the silence with a tearful laugh.
"Oh, don't look like that, you poor darling boys! Peter, little dear
Peter ... you must try and understand! You're good at understanding, you
know. Oh, take it easy, my dear! Take it easy, and see how it's nothing
to matter, how it's all one great joke after all!" Her arm was round his
shoulders as he sat on the table's edge; she was comforting him like a
child. To her he was always about Illuminato's age, a most beloved
infant.
Peter smiled a little at her. "Why, yes, of course it's a joke.
Everything is, isn't it. But ... but...."
He was more than ever a child, stammering unwordable protest, blindly
reaching out for help.
Hilary stood before him now, with his hands in his pockets, nervous,
irritable, weary, shame now masked by self-defence. That was better; but
still Peter kept his eyes for the curled-up child.
"My dear boy," said Hilary, in his sweet, plaintive tones, edged with
irritation, "if people like to be taken in, is it my business?"
And Peggy echoed, "Yes, Peter darling, _is_ it Hilary's business?"
Then Peter laughed suddenly. After all, it was all too hopeless, and too
absurd, for anything else.
"You can't go on, you know," he said then. "You've got to resign." And
Peggy looked at him in surprise, for he spoke now like a man instead of
a child, with a man's finality. He wasn't giving a command, but stating
an obvious fact.
"Darling--we've got to live!" Peggy murmured.
"You mayn't see the necessity," Hilary ironically put the approved answer
into Peter's mouth, "but we, unfortunately, do."
"Oh, don't be silly," said Peter unusually. "You _are_ being silly, you
know; merely absurd. Because, of course, it's simply a question between
resigning and being chucked out before long. You can't go on with this
sort of thing indefinitely. You see," he explained, apologetic now, "it
isn't even as if you did it well. You really don't. And it's an awfully
easy thing to see through, if once anyone gets on the track. All that
rubbish you've saddled Lord Evelyn with--anyone who isn't as blind as
a bat can spot it in a minute. I did; Cheriton has (that's why he's so
queer-mannered, by the way, I suppose); probably Denis has. Well, with
everyone knowing about it like that, someone is bound before long to
ferret out the real facts. Cheriton won't be long, I fancy, before he
gets hold of it all. And then--and then it will be so frightfully
awkward. Oh, you can't go on, Hilary; you've got to drop it."
"You're talking very lightly," said Hilary, "of throwing up one's entire
income."
Peter sighed. "Not lightly; I'm really not. I know what a bore it will
be--but not such a bore as the other thing.... Well, then, don't throw it
up: simply chuck Stefani and the rest, and run the thing on different
lines. I'd help, if you'd let me. I'd chuck Leslie and stay on here and
write for you. I would love to. I made a start to-day, you see; I told
Stefani he was out of his reckonings, so he'll be prepared. We'll tell
all the rest the same.... I suppose Vyvian's in it, too? Can't you get
rid of the man? I do so dislike him, you know. Well, never mind; anyhow,
we'll tell him he's got to run on new lines now. Oh, we'll make a decent
thing of the Gem after all; Hilary, do let's. Peggy, don't you think that
would be jolly?"
He looked up into his sister-in-law's face, and met smiling eyes suddenly
tear-dimmed. She smiled down at him.
"Very jolly, you beloved child.... So you'll chuck your Mr. Leslie and
your own profession and help to run the Gem? I don't think we can let him
do that, Hilary, can we?"
Hilary's strained face had softened and relaxed.
"I confess," he said, "that it would be in many ways a great relief to me
to drop that side of the business, if I could see my way to it. But it
won't be easy now, Peter. It will mean a certain amount of going back on
former statements, for one thing."
"Oh, that'll be all right. Papers are always doing that. We'll manage all
right and put a good face on it. And we'll make the thing sell--make it
funny and interesting and nice. Of course, if Leslie is willing for me to
give part of my time to it, there's no reason why I should leave him, as
long as he stays in Venice. It will be all in his interests really,
because he can get tips from the Gem. I've warned him off it lately
because I thought you were such an awful muddler, Hilary. By the way,
it's rather a relief that you aren't quite so wanting as I was beginning
to fear; seriously, I was wondering how on earth you were going to get
through this difficult world. There's no remedy for a muddler; he can't
mend."
But a swindler can; a swindler certainly must, that was conveyed by the
appeal in Peter's tired face. So tired it was that Peggy gently took
Illuminato from his uncle's arms and said, "And now we'll all go to bed.
My beloved little brother--you're an angel in the house, and we'll all do
just as you say, if it's only to make you smile again. Won't we, Hilary?"
She leant a soft cheek against Hilary's shoulder, smiling at Peter; but
Peter waited for Hilary's reply before he smiled back.
Hilary's reply came after a moment.
"Of course, if Peter can contrive a way of keeping our heads above water
without having recourse to these detestable methods, I shall be only too
relieved. I loathe having to traffic with these dirty swindlers; it's
too insufferably wearying and degrading.... By the way, Peter, what did
Stefani want to-day?"
Peter said, "Oh, bother Stefani. I'm tired of him. Really, I can't
remember--oh, yes, it was antique vases, that might deceive an expert.
But let's stop thinking about Stefani and go to bed. I'm so awfully
sleepy; do let's go upstairs and try to get a little rest, as Vyvian
puts it."
Peggy patted him softly on the cheek as he passed her, and her smile for
him was curiously pitiful.
"We'll do our best to mend, my dear; we'll do our best," was what she
soothingly murmured; and then, to Illuminato, "There, my froglet; cuddle
up and sleep," and to Hilary, "You poor old dear, will we let the little
brother have his way, because he's a darling entirely, and quite
altogether in the right?"