“Never mind, Joseph.
We have to pay a price for youth.”
He would go out again, depressed but dignified.
In his own way he was as unsocial as Sarah, as mysterious and self-obliterating as are all good servants.
So on that last night of Sarah’s life, Judy was with me.
She had just arrived, looking a trifle defiant, and at dinner she stated her grievance.
Mary Martin was out for the evening, and the two of us were alone at the table.
“Really, Katherine is too outrageous,” she said.
“She’s probably saying the same thing about you.”
“But it is silly. Truly.
She wants me not to see Wallie.
I don’t think Wallie is anything to lie awake at night about, but after all he’s my half-brother.”
I said nothing.
It was an old difficulty in the family, Katherine’s dislike of Howard’s son by his first marriage.
It was a part of her jealousy of Howard, her resentment of that early unfortunate marriage of his.
She loathed Wallie and all he stood for; not that he stood for a great deal.
He was the usual rich man’s son, rather charming in his own way but neurotic since the war.
But he looked like Margaret, the first wife, and Katherine could not forgive him for that.
“You like Wallie,” Judy accused me.
“Of course I do.”
“And he had a wonderful war record.”
“Certainly he had.
What are you trying to do, Judy?
Justify yourself?”
“I think he’s had a rotten deal,” she said.
“From all of us.
A bit of allowance from father, and now I’m not to see him!”
“But you are going to see him,” I told her.
“You’re going to see him tonight.
He wants to look over an old ormolu cabinet Laura has sent me.”
She forgot her irritation in her delight.
“Lovely!
Has it got any secret drawers?
I adore looking for secret drawers,” she said, and went on eating a substantial meal.
These young things, with their slender waists and healthy appetites!
She had already rushed up to the third floor to greet Sarah, and while we were eating I heard Sarah on the way down.
This was nothing unusual.
She would go out sometimes at night, either to the movies or to take Jock and Isabel for a walk, and I could sit at my place at the table and watch her coming down the stairs.
The fireplace in the music room is set at an angle, and in the mirror over it I would see Sarah; first her soft-soled low-heeled shoes, then the bottom of her white skirt, and then her gray coat, until finally all of Sarah emerged into view.
This evening however I saw that she had taken off her uniform, and I called to her.
“Going to the movies, Sarah?”
“No.” She had no small amenities of speech.
“Don’t you want the dogs?
They haven’t been out today.”
She seemed to hesitate.
I could see her in the mirror, and I surprised an odd expression on her face.
Then the dogs themselves discovered her and began to leap about her.
“Do take them, Sarah,” Judy called.
“I suppose I can,” she agreed rather grudgingly.
“What time is it?”