The adieux were distressing. Clara, with her pale sharp face and
troubled eyes, clasped Darius round the neck, and almost hung on it.
And Edwin thought: "Why doesn't she tell him straight out he's done
for?" Then she retired and sought her husband's arm with the conscious
pride of a wife fruitful up to the limits set by nature. And then
Auntie Hamps shook hands with the victim. These two of course did not
kiss. Auntie Hamps bore herself bravely. "Now _do_ do as the doctor
advises!" she said, patting Darius on the shoulder. "And _do_ be guided
by these dear children!"
Edwin caught Maggie's eye, and held it grimly.
"And you, my pet," said Auntie Hamps, turning to Clara, who with Albert
was now at the door. "You must be getting back to your babies! It's a
wonder how you manage to get away! But you're a wonderful arranger! ...
Only don't overdo it. Don't overdo it!"
Clara gave a fatigued smile, as of one whom circumstances often forced
to overdo it.
They departed, Albert whistling to the night. Edwin observed again, in
their final glances, the queer, new, ingratiating deference for himself.
He bolted the door savagely.
Darius was still standing at the entrance to the dining-room. And as he
looked at him Edwin thought of Big James's vow never to lift his voice
in song again. Strange! It was the idea of the secret strangeness of
life that was uppermost in his mind: not grief, not expectancy. In the
afternoon he had been talking again to Big James, who, it appeared, had
known intimately a case of softening of the brain. He did not identify
the case--it was characteristic of him to name no names--but clearly he
was familiar with the course of the disease.
He had begun revelations which disconcerted Edwin, and had then stopped.
And now as Edwin furtively examined his father, he asked himself: "Will
_that_ happen to him, and _that_, and those still worse things that Big
James did not reveal?" Incredible! There he was, smoking a cigarette,
and the clock striking ten in its daily, matter-of-fact way.
Darius let fall the cigarette, which Edwin picked up from the mat, and
offered to him.
"Throw it away," said Darius, with a deep sigh.
"Going to bed?" Edwin asked.
Darius shook his head, and Edwin debated what he should do. A moment
later, Maggie came from the kitchen and asked--
"Going to bed, father?"
Again Darius shook his head. He then went slowly into the drawing-room
and lit the gas there.
"What shall you do? Leave him?" Maggie whispered to Edwin in the
dining-room, as she helped Mrs Nixon to clear the table.
"I don't know," said Edwin. "I shall see."
In ten minutes both Maggie and Mrs Nixon had gone to bed. Edwin
hesitated in the dining-room. Then he extinguished the gas there, and
went into the drawing-room. Darius, not having lowered the blinds, was
gazing out of the black window.
"You needn't wait down here for me," said he, a little sharply. And his
tone was so sane, controlled, firm, and ordinary that Edwin could do
nothing but submit to it.
"I'm not going to," he answered quietly.
Impossible to treat a man of such demeanour like a child.