"Very well! Very well!" the father murmured, acting humility. "I'm
snubbed!"
Tom had now strolled across the room, smiling to himself, and looking at
the carpet, in an effort to behave as one who had done nothing in
particular.
"How d'ye do, Clayhanger?" He greeted Edwin, and grasped his hand in a
feverish clutch. "You must excuse us. We aren't used to audiences.
That's the worst of being rotten amateurs."
Edwin rose. "Oh!" he deprecated. He had never spoken to Tom Orgreave
before, but Tom seemed ready to treat him at once as an established
acquaintance.
Then Alicia had to come forward and shake hands. She could not get a
word out.
"Now, baby!" Charlie teased her.
She tossed her mane, and found refuge by her mother's side. Mrs
Orgreave caressed the mane into order.
"This is Miss Lessways. Hilda--Mr Edwin Clayhanger." Janet drew the
dark girl towards her as the latter hovered uncertainly in the middle of
the room, her face forced into the look of elaborate negligence
conventionally assumed by every self-respecting person who waits to be
introduced. She took Edwin's hand limply, and failed to meet his
glance. Her features did not soften. Edwin was confirmed in the
impression of her obdurate ugliness. He just noticed her olive skin and
black eyes and hair. She was absolutely different in type from any of
the Clayhangers. The next instant she and Charlie were talking
together.
Edwin felt the surprised relief of one who has plunged into the sea and
discovers himself fairly buoyant on the threatening waves.
"Janet," asked Mrs Orgreave, "will supper be ready?"
In the obscurer corners of the room grey shadows gathered furtively,
waiting their time.
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