Under his great-aunt's unwinking stare his voice dwindled and finally ceased. Rosemary took up the thread, saying: "It seems rather silly not to move in now, don't you think? Particularly as the people who have bought our house want possession as soon as possible."
"I suppose," said Emily, "that one of your maids has given notice."
"Both," replied Rosemary with complete candour. "Cook gave notice yesterday, because she says she can't get on with the kitchener, and this morning that devil of a house-parlour-maid said she was going, too, because cook's leaving made her feel unsettled. I mean, I simply can't face it."
"You can move in here when you like," said Emily.
Miss Allison, seated by the window, looked up from her needlework in momentary surprise, then bent her head again over the embroidery.
"Darling, how angel of you!" said Rosemary. "You've simply saved my life!"
"Very kind—very kind indeed!" Clement said, looking at the floor. "I need hardly say that we look upon this house as yours, Aunt Emily."
"Oh, utterly!" agreed Rosemary. "I loathe having to look after a house, and I haven't the least intention of interfering with anything here—except, of course, quite small details, like having my own rooms redecorated, which I absolutely must have done. I'm one of those people who are ridiculously sensitive to colour, and I know that if I had to have a blue sitting room, for instance, it would get on my nerves to such an extent that I should probably go mad. But as for ordering meals, or telling the servants what to do, I should be quite, quite hopeless. I shall beg and implore Patricia to carry on just as usual."
Miss Allison smiled but said nothing. Emily, having listened to this speech with an expression of contempt on her face, turned her eyes towards Clement and addressed him abruptly: "I've invited Jim to stay next week. If you don't like it you'll have to lump it."
"My dear aunt!" protested Clement. "You have every right to invite whom you please, and as for my not liking to have Jim here, good heavens, I shall be extremely pleased to see him!"
"I'll tell him," said Emily sardonically. She moved her hands in her lap. "There's another thing. What you do with the business is no concern of mine; but if you mean to take up with that plausible American I'll have you know that your cousin was set against it. I dare say you and those Mansells think yourselves very clever, but there's not one of you has the head my son had!"
Clement reddened and replied with some annoyance: "Really, Aunt, it is quite unnecessary for you to tell me that. I spoke to Silas about it last night, and I may say that upon reflection I fully agree with his view of the matter. Not that Roberts is an American. He has lived for some years in the States, but he is of English birth."
"That's neither here nor there," said Emily. "He dined here last week, and I didn't take to him. What's more, he talks like an American. That's enough for me."
Clement permitted himself to smile rather superciliously and to give the faintest shrug of the shoulders before changing the subject. He told his great-aunt that she must prepare her mind for the unpleasantness of an inquest, to which she replied that she was not born yesterday.
By the time the Clement Kanes took their departure Clement at least had won Miss Allison's sympathy. It seemed to her that he was behaving towards Emily with patience and considerable restraint. Indeed, so unresentful of snubs did he show himself to be that Patricia ventured to ask Emily, when he had gone, what she found to dislike in him.
"He's a fool," Emily said harshly. "A weak fool! and that wife of his!" Her fingers worked on the silk of her gown. "A nice pair to succeed my son! A nice pair for me to live with for the rest of my days!" A faint colour crept into her cheeks. Between their puckered lids her eyes stared straight ahead. "I wanted Jim," she said, more to herself than to Patricia. "It ought to be his, all of it! Clement! He's only half a man!"
Patricia said nothing. The note of hatred in Emily's voice was inexplicable and rather shocking.
"And his father," said Emily, with concentrated venom, "was just such another! I've always hated 'em—the whole pack of them! Jim's the only one worth tuppence." She pulled the shawl more tightly about her shoulders and said: "I won't see anyone else. If any of those Mansells call, you can send them about their business."
Both Agatha Mansell and her daughter called during the course of the day, but although Agatha insisted upon seeing Patricia, she accepted without comment the message that Mrs. Kane felt unable to receive visitors.
Betty Pemble, however, assured Miss Allison that she quite understood and gave into her charge an untidy posy of mixed flowers, the touching offering of her children, who (according to her account) had thought of it quite by themselves upon being told the sad news of Uncle Silas' death.
"I just told them that dear Uncle Silas has gone away on a long journey," she said. "They're such mites, you know, and I've never let them hear about Death or have ugly toys or stories about ogres and things. I mean, I do frightfully believe in keeping their little minds free from everything but happy, beautiful things, don't you?"
"A waste of time," pronounced Agatha. "Children are singularly heartless creatures."
Not from conviction, but with the object of preventing Mrs. Pemble from entering upon an involved argument in support of her offspring's sensibilities, Miss Allison made haste to take the flowers and to agree that all ugly things should be kept from the young.
Betty, who had hitherto believed Miss Allison to be hard and "what-I-call-unsympathetic" was pleased and told her earnestly that when one of his Pemble aunts had sent Peter a golliwogg for Christmas she had instantly taken it away from him and given him instead a sweet little woolly lamb.
"Yes," said Agatha magisterially, "and had I been his mother I should have given him a good spanking for screaming from sheer temper as he did. I well remember the occasion. Not that I see what a golliwogg has to do with Silas Kane's death."
She turned to Patricia and desired her to recount the precise circumstances of the accident. She did not appear to believe that Patricia was unable to gratify her curiosity, for she continued to question her long after Patricia had confessed almost entire ignorance. Her manner was so majestic and her voice so overpoweringly cultured that Patricia found herself apologising for knowing so little. It did not occur to her until that masterful presence was withdrawn that Agatha Mansell, who despised gossip and considered accidental deaths sensational and therefore vulgar, had been oddly anxious to possess herself of all the facts of the case.
Two more callers visited Cliff House to leave cards and sympathetic messages. One was Paul Mansell, who contrived to waylay Miss Allison in the garden and to pay her unseasonable addresses; the other was Oscar Roberts, who said naively that, having enjoyed the old lady's hospitality, he wanted to do the civil thing.
Mr. Harte, having looked Paul Mansell over with the mercilessly critical eyes of the youthful male, informed Miss Allison dispassionately that he seemed to be a pretty good tick. Oscar Roberts, however, whom he encountered in the drive, instantly won his approbation.
Unlike Emily, Mr. Harte had no prejudice against Americans. America for him was an Eldorado populated in its wilder regions by venal sheriffs and heroic cowboys; and in its towns by bootleggers, gangsters, kidnappers and G men. That another side to American life might exist he was happily unaware, so that when Oscar Roberts addressed him in the accents of his favourite film star he believed that he stood in the presence of one who might at any moment produce a gun from somewhere about his person and accorded him a reverent admiration that was strong enough to enable him to pardon Mr. Roberts for having committed the awful solecism of hailing him as "son."