which she would
someday vanish entirely. He was thinking that sometimes she seemed to be looking back at him. But when it was done, when he had finished his task, then she would turn her face away forever.
Chapter Fourteen
"Grandy, can't we talk now? Alone, I mean. Please, darling. It's important." Mathilda hadn't seen them come in.
"What's important?" drawled Althea.
Oliver turned around to look at her, and his face flushed vividly with anger. Francis was a dark background, where the firelight and the lamplight barely touched him, as they stood there, just inside the room from the kitchen.
"Where have you been?" exploded Oliver. Her insolence set him off. The anger was genuine.
"Oh," said Althea, "talking."
"Talking about what?"
"Nothing worth repeating now," she said, and yawned daintily. “I do think I'll go up to bed," she said in the awkward silence. "After all, my first day out of it."
"Yes, do," said Grandy hastily. "Do, dear."
Jane got out of her chair. Mathilda thought she saw a glance pass between Jane and the white blur of Francis' face. "I think I'll say good night," said Jane primly. "Good night, Althea. Miss Frazier. Mr. Grandison, Mr. Keane." She murmured all their names politely.
All but one. She forgot to say good night to Francis. Mathilda thought it was odd. There was something in that forgetfulness that assumed he was different; either he didn't matter, or he would understand, or, thought Mathilda, he mattered most. Nobody else seemed to notice. Nobody else seemed to notice that she'd said "Miss Frazier."
"Good night," they said to Jane, raggedly.
Grandy said benignly, "Good night, child."
Jane showed them all her pretty smile and went away, withdrawing from the family, sweet, pretty and dutiful.
Althea stood where she was, looking strange, as if she'd been only half waked out of a hypnotic state or as if she were sleepwalking.
"Good night, Althea,” said Francis. His voice had no caress or even much meaning.
"Good night," she murmured.
Oliver said, "Good night, all." He hadn't even a special word for Tyl, the returned one. He didn't even look at Francis. He was furious. His fury had a female quality. Oliver was in a tizzy.
"Now, Oliver," said Grandy with remarkable clumsiness.
Oliver bared his teeth as if to say "Keep out of this." He took his wife's arm to pull her along, but his hand slipped. The gesture was pitiful and ineffective.
"Oh, Oliver, don't grab at me," said Althea crossly.
"Very well," said Oliver. He was shrill. Tyl wanted to hide her eyes.
Althea swayed a little, standing there, looking down at Tyl. She wasn't very tall, but she looked tall at that moment, and slender, and mysteriously malicious. Tyl's heart contracted with a little fear.
Althea laughed softly. "Well, Tyl, you're back, aren't you? All the way back."
She bent her silver head and Grandy kissed her. She walked down the long room, vanishing into the dark at the far end. In a moment, Oliver snapped on the light in the hall and she was outlined in brilliance briefly. Then she was gone.
The three of them, by the fire, were silent until Francis threw his cigarette into the flames decisively.
"I'll go back to the guest house now," he said, with no emphasis at all. Tyl looked at him, but his face was turned away.
Grandy said softly, quickly, "Yes, yes, of course. For tonight."
Mathilda got up. She didn't know whether she wanted to run or fight it out now and smash that lie, this heroic suffering pose of his that lied so expertly. She looked at him with her anger and her suspicion and her resentment and her defiance in her eyes. But as he moved closer, she didn't shrink away. It came to her that she was not afraid of him. She would enjoy a good fight, a good, bold, hard-hitting clash.
"Don't run," he said surprisingly. But when he stood over her very close, although he didn't
someday vanish entirely. He was thinking that sometimes she seemed to be looking back at him. But when it was done, when he had finished his task, then she would turn her face away forever.
Chapter Fourteen
"Grandy, can't we talk now? Alone, I mean. Please, darling. It's important." Mathilda hadn't seen them come in.
"What's important?" drawled Althea.
Oliver turned around to look at her, and his face flushed vividly with anger. Francis was a dark background, where the firelight and the lamplight barely touched him, as they stood there, just inside the room from the kitchen.
"Where have you been?" exploded Oliver. Her insolence set him off. The anger was genuine.
"Oh," said Althea, "talking."
"Talking about what?"
"Nothing worth repeating now," she said, and yawned daintily. “I do think I'll go up to bed," she said in the awkward silence. "After all, my first day out of it."
"Yes, do," said Grandy hastily. "Do, dear."
Jane got out of her chair. Mathilda thought she saw a glance pass between Jane and the white blur of Francis' face. "I think I'll say good night," said Jane primly. "Good night, Althea. Miss Frazier. Mr. Grandison, Mr. Keane." She murmured all their names politely.
All but one. She forgot to say good night to Francis. Mathilda thought it was odd. There was something in that forgetfulness that assumed he was different; either he didn't matter, or he would understand, or, thought Mathilda, he mattered most. Nobody else seemed to notice. Nobody else seemed to notice that she'd said "Miss Frazier."
"Good night," they said to Jane, raggedly.
Grandy said benignly, "Good night, child."
Jane showed them all her pretty smile and went away, withdrawing from the family, sweet, pretty and dutiful.
Althea stood where she was, looking strange, as if she'd been only half waked out of a hypnotic state or as if she were sleepwalking.
"Good night, Althea,” said Francis. His voice had no caress or even much meaning.
"Good night," she murmured.
Oliver said, "Good night, all." He hadn't even a special word for Tyl, the returned one. He didn't even look at Francis. He was furious. His fury had a female quality. Oliver was in a tizzy.
"Now, Oliver," said Grandy with remarkable clumsiness.
Oliver bared his teeth as if to say "Keep out of this." He took his wife's arm to pull her along, but his hand slipped. The gesture was pitiful and ineffective.
"Oh, Oliver, don't grab at me," said Althea crossly.
"Very well," said Oliver. He was shrill. Tyl wanted to hide her eyes.
Althea swayed a little, standing there, looking down at Tyl. She wasn't very tall, but she looked tall at that moment, and slender, and mysteriously malicious. Tyl's heart contracted with a little fear.
Althea laughed softly. "Well, Tyl, you're back, aren't you? All the way back."
She bent her silver head and Grandy kissed her. She walked down the long room, vanishing into the dark at the far end. In a moment, Oliver snapped on the light in the hall and she was outlined in brilliance briefly. Then she was gone.
The three of them, by the fire, were silent until Francis threw his cigarette into the flames decisively.
"I'll go back to the guest house now," he said, with no emphasis at all. Tyl looked at him, but his face was turned away.
Grandy said softly, quickly, "Yes, yes, of course. For tonight."
Mathilda got up. She didn't know whether she wanted to run or fight it out now and smash that lie, this heroic suffering pose of his that lied so expertly. She looked at him with her anger and her suspicion and her resentment and her defiance in her eyes. But as he moved closer, she didn't shrink away. It came to her that she was not afraid of him. She would enjoy a good fight, a good, bold, hard-hitting clash.
"Don't run," he said surprisingly. But when he stood over her very close, although he didn't
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