"D'you believe there's some special feeling between brother and sister?" he demanded.
"How about you and Penelope?"
"Oh she's too young."
"I don't suppose there can be unless they live together-have been brought up in the same house" she corrected herself.
"You don't believe in blood?" he asked.
"Consanguinity, is there such a word?" she answered. "No more than three types surely? Daddy wore his stamped over a card he hung round his neck during the war on a ribbon he got from me. I thought that marvellous then."
"I meant heredity" he said in a severe voice.
"Oh it's all a question of environment now" she objected. "I was taught the whole question of heredity had been exploded ages back."
"All the same I'd still like to see my relatives" he complained.
"Why don't you ask your mother then?"
"She'd think it pansy. Almost told me as much once or twice."
"But you aren't, Philip, no one could pretend you were."
"One never knows" he darkly answered.
"Look at you with that Bethesda Nathan at the office."
"I say, good Lord, what gossips you all are. Who says anything about Bethesda and me?" Obviously he was delighted.
"Of course we all do. Someone as attractive as you" she said smiling gently full in his face.
"You're making fun" he complained.
"No Philip don't be absurd. Naturally we gossip."
"You're laughing at me just like my mother."
"Now that's not nice and she hoots at everyone after all."
"Does she? I'd never noticed."
"Every minute. It's her line" she comforted him.
"Anyway there's nothing between Bethesda and me."
"Perhaps not. What all of us are interested in is whether there may be."
"Bethesda and I discuss this entire question of relatires" he told Mary, "She sees her own the whole time. In fact she's fed up with them."
"Jews have tremendous family feeling, Philip."
"And why shouldn't they?"
"I say, you are touchy! Penelope better grow up quick and take some of these awkward corners off you."
"Sorry" he said. "I'm being a bore."
"No you aren't at that" she objected. "We're having a cosy little argument that's all."
Yet what she said seemed to silence him. He turned his head away and looked round the room. She stretched her fingers out and tilted them upwards against their table, examined the short nails which were enamelled but not painted.
When his eyes came upon a man with two sticks he said, "Have yon heard about Arthur Morris?"
She immediately put those hands away on her lap and smiled upon Philip.
"Who?" she asked, all charm.
"You know that great friend of both our parents."
"Oh" she said and seemed to lose interest.
"He's having his toe off."
"Whyever for?"
Both began to giggle.
"Why does a man have a toe off?" he demanded.
"How should I know?"
"Because it's diseased, stupid."
"Poor man" she said no longer smiling and in an uninterested voice.
"My mother went to see him the other day" he told her.
"Well and why not? You don't make out there's something between them on top of her and Daddy?"
"I'm not sure."
"See here Philip, your mother's splendid. Oh I understand she may have a slightly unmarvellous nature at least where you are concerned, but she looks wonderful!"
"What difference does that make?"
"All the difference. She gets so many more offers."
"But at her age it's disgusting."
"I never said she accepted them Philip. There are so many must want to take your mother out."
"Who could?"
"Don't be filthy. Much better her than I should be mauled by one of the men her age!"
"You don't mean to say that antediluvian Arthur Morris-"
"Of course not" she sharply protested. "If you go on to others like this you'll be getting me a reputation."
"I never-"
"Okay" she said. "Forget it." She smiled. "But suppose you had to have a leg off wouldn't you wish for visitors?"
"Well of course."
"All right, then don't make out they kiss on top of the cradle they'll have put over his stump."
"Oh if it was just kissing" he said in a contemptuous voice.
"How should I know when or where they do the other?" she remarked petulantly. "I don't mind. If it's Daddy now and some woman, good luck to him I say."
"Yes but your father's a man" he protested.
"I should hope so indeed" she replied at which both began to giggle again.
"You're hopeless" he said.
"I haven't as much the matter with me as you appear to" she objected, serious once more. "Honestly you seem potty about your mother."
"I wonder if it's why the relatives won't come."
"No Philip really. You know what their whole generation is."
"How d'you mean?"
"Well they wouldn't let a little thing like that, I mean of going to bed, what we've just been discussing, make the slightest bit of difference would they?"
"I don't believe it is a little thing."
"No more do I."
"That's where the whole difference" he said "lies between our generations. Their whole lot is absolutely unbridled."
"Yes Philip, but they are the generation you've just said you want to meet, aren't they?" Both laughed gaily at this remark.
"Damned if I can make 'em out at all" he said. "You know your father is crazy. Did you hear what he did with little Penelope the other day? When our Italian maid sent her in dressed as a bride for fun, he actually married Pen."
"Married her!"
"Pretended to of course!" he explained. "Don't you think it most odd?"
"But Philip what on earth are you saying?"
"Went down on his knees in front of Mamma and from all I can make out ran through some bogus form of church service with the poor old thing. It knocked Penelope cold. She screamed the house down three days. Still, she's forgetting now at last."
Miss Pomfret did not seem impressed. "If your mother let him, then I'd say she was insane" she commented.
"Oh I don't know" he said. "But I do agree that generation's absolutely crazy."
"So are little girls, believe you me."
"And grown ones?" he inquired.
"Now to whom d'you refer may I ask?" she cried delighted.
"Like when you went up to Derek Wolfram at the party and announced it was time for bed?"
She blushed.
"No but which beast told you?" she demanded.
"Oh that's all over the office" he announced, at which she began to giggle, he joined in and presently they left, each going their several ways with broad smiles, well content it seemed.
A FORTNIGHT or so later Mrs Weatherby was with her son Philip in the sitting room of their flat.
"Dear boy" she was saying "I'm really worried about sweet Pen this time!"
"How's that Mamma?"
"She's such a little saint."
"She always was."
"Always!" his mother fervently agreed. "But I fancy if she doesn't soon what Richard calls snap out of it then we shall just have to take her to a psychologist."
"Mr Abbot? Where does he come into things?"
"My dear" she replied. "You must not mind your mother putting her problems to old friends."
"Okay Mamma. But you're about to take matters rather a long way forward surely?"
"Pen doesn't seem to get over it. Oh Philip I'm so distressed. She's just wrapped the whole thing up in her sweet mind."
"What with? You see, I don't understand."
"I never told you. I don't think one should tell one child the other's secrets. Philip, I'd say it must be four weeks ago now. Oh dear doesn't time fly. John Pomfret mistakenly came to tea and Isabella so stupid of her as things turned out dressed my precious Penelope up as a real bride. Then before I could stop him he was down on his knees marrying her with the actual words out of our church service."