Edwin, who said little, thought the relationship between father and sons
utterly delightful. He had not conceived that parents and children ever
were or could be on such terms.
"Now what do you say, Edwin?" Mr Orgreave asked. "Are you a--Charlie,
pass me that bottle."
Charlie was helping himself to another glass of wine. The father, the
two elder sons, and Edwin alone had drunk of the wine. Edwin had never
tasted wine in his life, and the effect of half a glass on him was very
agreeable and strange.
"Oh, dad! I just want a--" Charlie objected, holding the bottle in the
air above his glass.
"Charlie," said his mother, "do you hear your father?"
"Pass me that bottle," Mr Orgreave repeated.
Charlie obeyed, proclaiming himself a martyr. Mr Orgreave filled his
own glass, emptying the bottle, and began to sip.
"This will do me more good than you, young man," he said. Then turning
again to Edwin: "Are you a Bradlaugh man?"
And Edwin, uplifted, said: "All I say is--you can't help what you
believe. You can't make yourself believe anything. And I don't see why
you should, either. There's no virtue in believing."
"Hooray," cried the sedate Tom.
"No virtue in believing! Eh, Mr Edwin! Mr Edwin!"
This sad expostulation came from Mrs Orgreave.
"Don't you see what I mean?" he persisted vivaciously, reddening. But
he could not express himself further.
"Hooray!" repeated Tom.
Mrs Orgreave shook her head, with grieved good-nature.
"You mustn't take mother too seriously," said Janet, smiling. "She only
puts on that expression to keep worse things from being said. She's
only pretending to be upset. Nothing could upset her, really. She's
past being upset--she's been through so much--haven't you, you poor
dear?"
In looking at Janet, Edwin caught the eyes of Hilda blazing on him
fixedly. Her head seemed to tremble, and he glanced away. She had
added nothing to the discussion. And indeed Janet herself had taken no
part in the politics, content merely to advise the combatants upon their
demeanour.
"So you're against me too, Edwin!" Mr Orgreave sighed with mock
melancholy. "Well, this is no place for me." He rose, lifted Alicia
and put her into his arm-chair, and then went towards the door.
"You aren't going to work, are you, Osmond?" his wife asked, turning her
head.
"I am," said he.