‘She couldn’t know that Foskisson had been told not to follow it up, of course,’ he said at last. ‘Still, she must have expected the question. She should have told a good one and have done with it. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.’
‘You’d feel sorry for a flea that bit you, Michael. What do you mean by our not being forgiven?’
‘Well! The drama was all on her side, and it’s drama that counts. Besides, there’s her engagement!’
‘That’ll be broken off.’
‘Exactly! And if it is, she’ll have sympathy; while if it isn’t, he’ll have it. Anyway, we shan’t. Besides, you know, she stood up for what we all really believe nowadays.’
‘Speak for yourself.’
‘Well, don’t we talk of everyone being free?’
‘Yes, but is there any connexion betwen what we say and what we do?’
‘No,’ said Michael.
And just then Soames returned.
‘Well, sir?’
‘As I told you, Bullfry caught at it. They’ve settled. It’s a moral victory.’
‘Oh! not moral, I hope, sir.’
‘It’s cost a pretty penny, anyway,’ said Soames, looking at Fleur. ‘Your mother’s quite annoyed – she’s no sense of proportion. Very clever the way Foskisson made that woman lose her temper.’
‘He lost his, at the end. That’s his excuse, I suppose.’
‘Well,’ said Soames, ‘it’s all over! Your mother’s got the car; we’ll take a taxi.’
On the drive back to South Square, taking precisely the same route, there was precisely the same silence.
When a little later Michael went over to the House, he was edified by posters.
‘Society Libel Action.’
‘Marquess’s Granddaughter and K.C.’
‘Dramatic evidence.’
‘Modern Morality!’
All over – was it? With publicity – in Michael’s opinion – it had but just begun! Morality! What was it – who had it, and what did they do with it? How would he have answered those questions himself? Who could answer them, nowadays, by rote or rule? Not he, nor Fleur! They had been identified with the Inquisition, and what was their position now? False, if not odious! He passed into the House. But, try as he would, he could not fix his attention on the Purity of Food, and passed out again. With a curious longing for his father, he walked rapidly down Whitehall. Drawing blank at ‘Snooks’ and ‘The Aeroplane’, he tried the ‘Parthenzum’ as a last resort. Sir Lawrence was in a corner of a forbidden room, reading a life of Lord Palmerston. He looked up at his son.
‘Ah! Michael! They don’t do justice to old Pam. A man without frills, who worked like a nigger. But we mustn’t talk here!’ And he pointed to a member who seemed awake. ‘Shall we take a turn before the old gentleman over there has a fit? The books here are camouflage; it’s really a dormitory.’
He led the way, with Michael retailing the events of the morning.
‘Foskisson?’ said Sir Lawrence, entering the Green Park. ‘He was a nice little chap when I left Winchester. To be profesionally in the right is bad for a man’s character – counsel, parsons, policemen, they all suffer from it. Judges, High Priests, Arch-Inspectors, aren’t so bad – they’ve suffered from it so long that they’ve lost consciousness.’
‘It was a full house,’ said Michael glumly, ‘and the papers have got hold of it.’
‘They would.’ And Sir Lawrence pointed to the ornamental water. ‘These birds,’ he said, ‘remind me of China. By the way, I met your friend Desert yesterday at the ‘Aeroplane’ – he’s more interesting now that he’s dropped Poetry for the East. Everybody ought to drop something. I’m too old now, but if I’d dropped baronetcy in time, I could have made quite a good contortionist.’
‘What would you recommend for Members of Parliament?’ asked Michael, with a grin.
‘Postmanship, my dear – carrying on, you know; a certain importance, large bags, dogs to bark at you, no initiative, and conversation on every door-step. By the way, do you see Desert?’
‘I have seen him.’
Sir Lawrence screwed up his eyes.
‘The providential,’ he said, ‘doesn’t happen twice.’
Michael coloured; he had not suspected his father of such shrewd observation. Sir Lawrence swung his cane.
‘Your man Boddick,’ he said, ‘has persuaded some of his hens to lay; he’s giving us quite good eggs.’
Michael admired his reticence. But somehow that unexpected slanting allusion to a past domestic crisis roused the feeling that for so long now had been curled like a sleepy snake in his chest, that another crisis was brewing and must soon be faced.