him.
Chapter Nine
Signs and Portents
DINNER, BY TACIT consent, was a cheerful meal. No one appeared preoccupied with the exception of Bertie Philipson, who occasionally glanced to his left with a hunted expression in his eyes, and then hastily turned his attention to the food on his plate, as though he were obsessed by a secret fear, and was afraid someone might notice his obsession.
When the meal was over, Mrs Bradley took him aside immediately the men joined the women in the drawing-room and, under cover of a general and rather noisy discussion which had followed a remark of Carstairs’, said to him:
‘Tell me about it. It is important that I should know.’
Bertie seemed disinclined at first to confide in her, but she urged him the more.
‘You had better tell me, Mr Philipson. Something is worrying you,’ she said. ‘I may be able to help.Old women like me can often help young men like you.’
‘Yes,’ Bertie acknowledged. ‘You got old Garde out of a nasty hole with that tobacconist’s young woman. He told me about it. But this is—well, it’s rather different, you see. I don’t think I can tell you about it. Forgive me. And thanks—er—for offering——’
‘Oh, rubbish!’ interrupted Mrs Bradley briskly. ‘Besides’—she looked at him keenly—‘is it so very different a case?’
Bertie resorted to a mode of expressing uneasiness which he had not adopted since he was in the fourth form at school. He shuffled his feet and flushed.
Mrs Bradley took his arm. ‘Oh, I should love to see them by moonlight,’ she cried, in a voice shrill enough to pierce the full flood of discussion which was still being carried on by the others. ‘Do, please, Mr Philipson, come outside, and point them out to me!’
She tugged at the young man’s arm with such determination, and the others had ceased talking and were now gazing at him with such interest, that he was compelled to comply, and, feeling foolishly yet wretchedly like the unfortunate Filch, allowed this strong-minded little Mistress Peachum to hale him into the garden.
‘Come, now,’ she said, ‘I haven’t really brought you out to show me anything, of course, but we can speak freely out here. Eleanor’s been making herself a nuisance to you, hasn’t she?’
Bertie’s mouth opened and shut again. He blinked. Then he gurgled. Finally he ejaculated:
‘How on earth do you know?’
‘Tell me when it began, and all about it,’ commanded Mrs Bradley, altogether disregarding his question.
Bertie kicked an inoffensive early aster and then looked up at the full moon and scowled.
‘It began when I stayed here two years ago,’ he said. ‘I’ve known Dorothy Clark since we were kids, and they invited her and told her to bring a man as there was a shortage of males, especially dancing ones, in this part of the county, so she froze on to me and dragged me along. Well, I knew old Garde, of course, so that was all right. Well, it wasn’t a bad sort of show. Nearer Christmas than this, and we got some skating, I remember, and Eleanor unbent a bit and I taught her the Charleston or something, and Dorothy showed her a new way to do her hair. Well, after a day or two, when I’d got the hang of the house, I used to go into old Bing’s study and swot his books—I’m rather keen and he’s got some decent stuff, as I expect you know. One morning I found Eleanor in there. Of course, I knew she sort of devils for the old man when he’s got a working fit, so I greeted her in the conventional brotherly way and got down to a book. Suddenly she came over and squatted on the arm of my chair and began to be most pally. Asked me all about myself, and my prospects, and my parents, and everything under the sun.
‘I didn’t take much notice at first, but then Ifound she followed me when I went out walking alone, and would catch me up as soon as the road got a bit lonely, and in every possible way she began to suggest that I should, well, fall in love
Chapter Nine
Signs and Portents
DINNER, BY TACIT consent, was a cheerful meal. No one appeared preoccupied with the exception of Bertie Philipson, who occasionally glanced to his left with a hunted expression in his eyes, and then hastily turned his attention to the food on his plate, as though he were obsessed by a secret fear, and was afraid someone might notice his obsession.
When the meal was over, Mrs Bradley took him aside immediately the men joined the women in the drawing-room and, under cover of a general and rather noisy discussion which had followed a remark of Carstairs’, said to him:
‘Tell me about it. It is important that I should know.’
Bertie seemed disinclined at first to confide in her, but she urged him the more.
‘You had better tell me, Mr Philipson. Something is worrying you,’ she said. ‘I may be able to help.Old women like me can often help young men like you.’
‘Yes,’ Bertie acknowledged. ‘You got old Garde out of a nasty hole with that tobacconist’s young woman. He told me about it. But this is—well, it’s rather different, you see. I don’t think I can tell you about it. Forgive me. And thanks—er—for offering——’
‘Oh, rubbish!’ interrupted Mrs Bradley briskly. ‘Besides’—she looked at him keenly—‘is it so very different a case?’
Bertie resorted to a mode of expressing uneasiness which he had not adopted since he was in the fourth form at school. He shuffled his feet and flushed.
Mrs Bradley took his arm. ‘Oh, I should love to see them by moonlight,’ she cried, in a voice shrill enough to pierce the full flood of discussion which was still being carried on by the others. ‘Do, please, Mr Philipson, come outside, and point them out to me!’
She tugged at the young man’s arm with such determination, and the others had ceased talking and were now gazing at him with such interest, that he was compelled to comply, and, feeling foolishly yet wretchedly like the unfortunate Filch, allowed this strong-minded little Mistress Peachum to hale him into the garden.
‘Come, now,’ she said, ‘I haven’t really brought you out to show me anything, of course, but we can speak freely out here. Eleanor’s been making herself a nuisance to you, hasn’t she?’
Bertie’s mouth opened and shut again. He blinked. Then he gurgled. Finally he ejaculated:
‘How on earth do you know?’
‘Tell me when it began, and all about it,’ commanded Mrs Bradley, altogether disregarding his question.
Bertie kicked an inoffensive early aster and then looked up at the full moon and scowled.
‘It began when I stayed here two years ago,’ he said. ‘I’ve known Dorothy Clark since we were kids, and they invited her and told her to bring a man as there was a shortage of males, especially dancing ones, in this part of the county, so she froze on to me and dragged me along. Well, I knew old Garde, of course, so that was all right. Well, it wasn’t a bad sort of show. Nearer Christmas than this, and we got some skating, I remember, and Eleanor unbent a bit and I taught her the Charleston or something, and Dorothy showed her a new way to do her hair. Well, after a day or two, when I’d got the hang of the house, I used to go into old Bing’s study and swot his books—I’m rather keen and he’s got some decent stuff, as I expect you know. One morning I found Eleanor in there. Of course, I knew she sort of devils for the old man when he’s got a working fit, so I greeted her in the conventional brotherly way and got down to a book. Suddenly she came over and squatted on the arm of my chair and began to be most pally. Asked me all about myself, and my prospects, and my parents, and everything under the sun.
‘I didn’t take much notice at first, but then Ifound she followed me when I went out walking alone, and would catch me up as soon as the road got a bit lonely, and in every possible way she began to suggest that I should, well, fall in love
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