“Oh, who has taken the last jam tart?” said Maria in rallying reproach.
Sefton restored the tart to the dish.
“But what can we do with it now that those grubby hands have been over it?”
Sefton resumed possession of the tart.
“Did you ask Miss Petticott if she would like it?”
Sefton looked uncertain whether to proffer it at this stage.
“I could not eat any more, Lady Shelley.”
“But conventions should be observed. Sefton must remember another time.”
The latter began to eat the tart, uncertain what other course to take.
“It is nice?” said his mother, with the same touch of reproach.
“Yes.”
“You do not sound very sure about it?”
This was natural, as Sefton was eating the tart without tasting it, in his desire to be rid of it and be at ease.
“So it has gone,” said Maria, in the same manner. “It did not take long, did it?”
“No.”
“My dear, the boy must have his tea,” said Sir Roderick. “And surely the morsel has played its part.”
“ ‘The evil that things do, lives after them,’” said Clemence.
“How many tarts were there in the dish?” said Maria. “Did you happen to notice, Miss Petticott?”
“Well, I actually did, Lady Shelley. They were arranged in a pattern. Five pairs and one in the middle.”
“Very good taste,” said Oliver.
“Did you have one, Roderick?”
“No, they did not come my way.”
“Did you, Miss Petticott?”
“No, Lady Shelley. But I had quite enough without them. I could not have managed any more.”
“I had two,” said Oliver, “and so did Clemence”
“Then Sefton had seven. Really, Sefton, you should pass things to other people, and not just sit in front of them and despatch them yourself.”
Clemence and Sefton laughed at the phrase, and Maria looked faintly gratified.
“Where is the boy to sit, if not at the table?” said Sir Roderick.
“He should remember there are other people there. I am afraid he does not get much discipline upstairs.”
“He behaves very nicely, Lady Shelley,” said Miss Petticott. “He always does as he is told.”
“He waits to be told. I suppose that is it.”
“He did not think of passing the things on this table,” said Clemence. “He thought they were nothing to do with him. He is not used to being down here.”
“Is that it, my little son? Come and give your mother a kiss,” said Maria, holding out her arms.
Sefton went and stood within them. Sir Roderick beckoned to Clemence and accommodated her in the same way. Mr. Firebrace and Oliver rose one accord, linked their arms and danced to the door, keeping in step with each other. Miss Petticott’s were the only eyes that followed them.
“A queer household, Miss Petticoat?”
“Well, it is individual, like all households, Sir Roderick. We should not like them without their little idosyncrasies. It would take from the variety and zest of life. The world would be a poorer place.”
The children remained in their parents’ embrace, uneasy in it, willing to escape, but feeling its safety in view of the menaced future. When release came, Sefton went at once to the door.
“Go after him and comfort him, Clemence,” said Maria. “He is upset by being convicted of greediness.”
“By being accused of it,” said Sir Roderick. “What would you have a boy do with the food in front of him?”
“I do not want him to be a copy of other boys. But no doubt they will make him so. He will be spoiled; both of them will. But I suppose it cannot be helped.”
“Of course it can,” said her husband, his eyes following his daughter. “There is no need for them to leave their home.”
Maria saw his look and knew she had given him the first thing in his life, knew too that she had never held the place. She gave a sigh, honest, discouraged, resigned, and Sir Roderick heard it and bowed to fate.
“I will go and attend to my flock, Lady Shelley,” said Miss Petticott. “I have a feeling that they are in need of their shepherdess.”
“Yes, go and make things comfortable for them, Miss Petticoat,” said Sir Roderick.
Miss Petticott mounted to the schoolroom, now restored to its normal use. Sefton was standing by the table with emotion on his face. Clemence regarded him with easy sympathy, and Adela, sunk in the armchair on the hearth, with question.
“I hope we are not to have supper downstairs,” he said.
“It would be the most dangerous of all the meals,” said his sister. “It would be dinner, and we should be particularly unworthy of it.”
“Well, I expect you will have it up here,” said Miss Petticott, taking a chair with a glance at the one in use. “And our manners may be the better for a touch of polish. Perhaps we are sinking too much into our own groove.”
Adela indicated her lap to Sefton, but as it was not accepted, had no choice but to rise and yield the seat.
“Thank you, Adela,” said Miss Petticott, taking it as something that was due.
“Children are better in their own quarters, ma’am.”
“That does seem to be so. But they must learn to be happy and easy anywhere. Miss Clemence is getting older.”
“I wonder why people are so struck by that in my case. It must be a common thing.”
“To hark at her!” said Adela. “She does not need to be hurried forward. And she will never have to fend for herself.”
“She will have to do other things. And going to school may be the right beginning.”
“It is the beginning of the end,” said Clemence.
“Now what do you mean by that?” said Adela.
“What I may.”
“I don’t think she needs so much school to help her.”
“We shall have to be brave, you and I, Adela, and put ourselves in the background. What is best for the children is best for us. That is how we must see it.”
“There are places I like better than a background, ma’am. And I am not so sure about its being best. It may not amount to that.”
Sefton took a book and leaned back and crossed his legs. Adela spoke to Clemence with an elaborate movement of her lips, and enough sound coming from them to render the pantomime meaningless.
“Did anything go wrong downstairs?”
“Something about a plate of tarts. Nothing that meant anything.”
“Well, I should hope he is allowed to help himself at the table in his own home!”
“I had seven,” said Sefton, looking up to throw light on the matter.
“To think of him! Doing that of his own accord! And everyone’s eyes on him! And him not downstairs above once or twice a year!”
“It was Mother’s eyes that were on me,” said Sefton, with a hint of a smile.
“And they are not coming on fast enough at home.”
“Come and sit here, Sefton, and have a luxurious hour,” said Miss Petticott, rising from her chair. “I am going to my room for a time.”
Miss Petticott had hardly closed the door, when it opened to the sound of Maria’s voice.
“Oh, who has taken the best armchair for himself?”
There was scarcely a pause before Adela spoke.
“And who shows he doesn’t dare to meet the governess? That doesn’t suggest the character that is intended.”
Sefton drew a breath, and Clemence sprang on to the table and swung her legs as though from a rash height.
“Aldom, do the scene at the inn, when you fetched your father from the supper,” said Sefton.
“And not too many of the words, with Miss Clemence here,” said Adela. “She won’t have to get used to what you had to.”
“Miss Clemence all of a sudden!”
“And time you said it, being what you are, a man and not of any age.”
The children stood, absorbed in the scene. Adela sat with her mouth open in mingled interest and lack of it. It held its own until it seemed to sustain a sudden shock. A change seemed to shiver through it. The innkeeper spoke with another voice, lived and moved as another man. Clemence and Sefton glanced at each other and the door.