The next morning, Tuesday, the girls, between whom and their whispering
friend Miss Ingamells something feminine was evidently afoot, left the
breakfast-table sooner than usual, not without stifled giggles: upon
occasion Maggie would surprisingly meet Clara and Miss Ingamells on
their own plane; since Sunday afternoon she had shown no further
interest in Edwin's important crisis; she seemed, so far as he could
judge, to have fallen back into her customary state of busy apathy.
The man and the young man were alone together. Darius, in his
satisfaction at having been delivered so easily from the goose, had
taken an extra slice of bacon. Edwin's cold was now fully developed;
and Maggie had told him to feed it.
"I suppose you got that letter I wrote you, father, about me going in
for architecture," said Edwin. Then he blew his nose to hide his
confusion. He was rather startled to hear himself saying those bold
words. He thought that he was quite calm and in control of his
impulses; but it was not so; his nerves were stretched to the utmost.
Darius said nothing. But Edwin could see his face darkening, and his
lower lip heavily falling. He glowered, though not at Edwin. With eyes
fixed on the window he glowered into vacancy. The pride went out of
Edwin's heart.
"So ye'd leave the printing?" muttered Darius, when he had finished
masticating. He spoke in a menacing voice thick with ferocious emotion.
"Well--" said Edwin, quaking.
He thought he had never seen his father so ominously intimidating. He
was terrorised as he looked at that ugly and dark countenance. He could
not say any more. His voice left him. Thus his fear was physical as
well as moral. He reflected: "Well, I expected a row, but I didn't
expect it would be as bad as this!" And once more he was completely
puzzled and baffled by the enigma of his father.
------------------------------------------------------------------------