pg5247 [246]
Every one was thunderstruck at this expression of joy. Mr. Critchlow had never been known to be glad to see anybody.
"Yes," twittered Maria, "Mr. Critchlow would come in to-night. Nothing would do but he must come in to-night."
"You didn't tell me this afternoon," said Constance, "that you were going to give us the pleasure of your company like this."
He looked momentarily at Constance. "No," he grated, "I don't know as I did."
His gaze flattered Sophia. Evidently he treated this experienced and sad woman of fifty as a young girl. And in presence of his extreme age she felt like a young girl, remembering the while how as a young girl she had hated him. Repulsing the assistance of his wife, he arranged an armchair in front of the fire and meticulously put himself into it. Assuredly he was much older in a drawing-room than behind the counter of his shop. Constance had noticed that in the afternoon. A live coal fell out of the fire. He bent forward, wet his fingers, picked up the coal and threw it back into the fire.
"Well," said Sophia. "I wouldn't have done that."
"I never saw Mr. Critchlow's equal for picking up hot cinders," Maria giggled.
Mr. Critchlow deigned no remark. "When did ye leave this Paris?" he demanded of Sophia, leaning back, and putting his hands on the arms of the chair.
"Yesterday morning," said Sophia,
"And what'n ye been doing with yeself since yesterday morning?"
"I spent last night in London," Sophia replied.
"Oh, in London, did ye?"
"Yes. Cyril and I had an evening together."
"Eh? Cyril! What's yer opinion o' Cyril, Sophia?"
"I'm very proud to have Cyril for a nephew," said Sophia.
"Oh! Are ye?" The old man was obviously ironic.
"Yes I am," Sophia insisted sharply. "I'm not going to hear a word said against Cyril."
She proceeded to an enthusiastic laudation of Cyril which rather overwhelmed his mother. Constance was pleased; she was delighted. And yet somewhere in her mind was an uncomfortable feeling that Cyril, having taken a fancy to his brilliant aunt, had tried to charm her as he seldom or never tried to charm his mother. Cyril and Sophia had dazzled and conquered each other; they were of the same type; whereas she, Constance, being but a plain person, could not glitter.
She rang the bell and gave instructions to Amy about food—fruit cakes, coffee and hot milk, on a tray; and Sophia also spoke to Amy murmuring a request as to Fossette.
"Yes, Mrs. Scales," said Amy, with eager deference.
Mrs. Critchlow smiled vaguely from a low chair near the curtained window. Then Constance lit another burner of the chandelier. In doing so, she gave a little sigh; it was a sigh of relief. Mr. Critchlow had behaved himself. Now that he and Sophia had met, the worst was over. Had Constance known beforehand that he would pay a call, she would have been agonized by apprehensions, but now that he had actually come she was glad he had come.
When he had silently sipped some hot milk, he drew a thick bunch of papers, white and blue, from his bulging breast-pocket.
"Now, Maria Critchlow," he called, edging round his chair slightly.
"Ye'd best go back home."
Maria Critchlow was biting at a bit of walnut cake, while in her right hand, all seamed with black lines, she held a cup of coffee.
"But, Mr. Critchlow——!" Constance protested.
"I've got business with Sophia, and I must get it done. I've got for to render an account of my stewardship to Sophia, under her father's will, and her mother's will, and her aunt's will, and it's nobody's business but mine and Sophia's, I reckon. Now then," he glanced at his wife, "off with ye!"
Maria rose, half-kittenish and half-ashamed.
"Surely you don't want to go into all that to-night," said Sophia. She spoke softly, for she had already fully perceived that Mr. Critchlow must be managed with the tact which the capricious obstinacies of advanced age demanded. "Surely you can wait a day or two. I'm in no hurry."
"HAVEN'T I WAITED LONG ENOUGH?" he retorted fiercely.
There was