Michael smiled – incongruity, indeed, could go no farther.
‘We must get one up for you at Lippinghall.’
‘No, thank you.’
‘You’re right, sir; nothing more boring. But they’re the coulisses of politics. Fleur thinks they’re good for me. And Marjorie Ferrar knows all the people we know, and lots more. It is awkward.’
‘I should go on as if nothing had happened,’ said Soames: ‘But about that paper? They ought to be warned that this woman is venomous.’
Michael regarded his father-in-law quizzically.
On entering, they found the manservant in the hall.
‘There’s a man to see you, sir, by the name of Bugfill.’
‘Oh! Ah! Where have you put him, Coaker?’
‘Well, I didn’t know what to make of him, sir, he shakes all over. I’ve stood him in the dining-room.’
‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Michael.
Soames passed into the ‘parlour’, where he found his daughter and Francis Wilmot.
‘Mr Wilmot is leaving us, Father. You’re just in time to say good-bye.’
If there were moments when Soames felt cordial, they were such as these. He had nothing against the young man; indeed, he rather liked the look of him; but to see the last of almost anybody was in a sense a relief; besides, there was this question of what he had overheard, and to have him about the place without knowing would be a continual temptation to compromise with one’s dignity and ask him what it was.
‘Good-bye, Mr Wilmot,’ he said; ‘if you’re interested in pictures –’ he paused, and holding out his hand, added, ‘you should look in at the British Museum.’
Francis Wilmot shook the hand deferentially.
‘I will. It’s been a privilege to know you, sir.’
Soames was wondering why, when the young man turned to Fleur.
‘I’ll be writing to Jon from Paris, and I’ll surely send your love. You’ve been perfectly wonderful to the. I’ll be glad to have you and Michael visit me at any time you come across to the States; and if you bring the little dog, why – I’ll just be honoured to let him bite me again.’
He bowed over Fleur’s hand, and was gone, leaving Soames staring at the back of his daughter’s neck.
‘That’s rather sudden,’ he said, when the door was closed; ‘anything upset him?’
She turned on him, and said coldly:
‘Why did you make that fuss last night, Father?’
The injustice of her attack was so palpable, that Soames bit his moustache in silence. As if he could help himself, when she was insulted in his hearing!
‘What good do you think you’ve done?’
Soames, who had no notion, made no attempt to enlighten her. He only felt sore inside.
‘You’ve made me feel as if I couldn’t look anybody in the face. But I’m going to, all the same. If I’m a lion-hunter and a snob, I’ll do it thoroughly. Only I do wish you wouldn’t go on thinking I’m a child and can’t defend myself.’
And still Soames was silent, sore to the soles of his boots.
Fleur flashed a look at him, and said:
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help it; everything’s queered;’ and she went out of the room.
Soames moved blindly to the window and stood looking out. He saw a cab with luggage drive away; saw some pigeons alight, peck at the pavement, and fly off again; he saw a man kissing a woman in the dusk; a policeman light his pipe and go off duty. He saw many human and interesting things; he heard Big Ben chime. Nothing in it all! He was staring at a silver spoon. He himself had put it in her mouth at birth.
Chapter Nine
POULTRY AND CATS
HE who had been stood in the dining-room, under the name of Bugfill, was still upright. Rather older than Michael, with an inclination to side-whisker, darkish hair, and a pale face stamped with that look of schooled quickness common to so many actors but unfamiliar to Michael, he was grasping the edge of the dining-table with one hand, and a wide-brimmed black hat with the other. The expression of his large, dark-circled eyes was such that Michael smiled and said:
‘It’s all right, Mr Bergfeld, I’m not a manager. Do sit down, and smoke.’
The visitor silently took the proffered chair and cigarette with an attempt at a fixed smile. Michael sat on the table.
‘I gather from Mrs Bergfeld that you’re on the rocks.’
‘Fast,’ said the shaking lips.
‘Your health, and your name, I suppose?’
‘Yes.’
‘You want an open-air job, I believe? I haven’t been able to think of anything very gaudy, but an idea did strike me last night in the stilly watches. How about raising poultry – everybody’s doing it.’