Father is dead!
And we sit here discussing mere money matters!"
A faint colour rose in Philip's pale cheeks.
"We are only trying to help," he said stiffly.
"I know, Phil, old boy, I know. But there's nothing anyone can do. So let's call it a day."
"I suppose," said Philip, "that I could raise a certain amount of money.
Securities have gone down a good deal and some of my capital is tied up in such a way that I can't touch it: Magda's settlement and so on - but -" Magda said quickly:
"Of course you can't raise the money, darling. It would be absurd to try - and not very fair on the children."
"I tell you I'm not asking anyone for anything!" shouted Roger. "I'm hoarse with telling you so.
I'm quite content that things should take their course."
"It's a question of prestige," said Philip. "Father's. Ours."
"It wasn't a family business.
It was solely my concern."
"Yes," said Philip, looking at him.
"It was entirely your concern."
Edith de Haviland got up and said:
"I think we've discussed this enough."
There was in her voice that authentic note of authority that never fails to produce its effect.
Philip and Magda got up. Eustace lounged out of the room and I noticed the stiffness of his gait.
He was not exactly lame but his walk was a halting one.
Roger linked his arm in Philip's and said:
"You've been a brick, Phil, even to think of such a thing!"
The brothers went out together.
Magda murmured, "Such a fuss!" as she followed them, and Sophia said that she must see about my room.
Edith de Haviland stood rolling up her knitting.
She looked towards me and I thought she was going to speak to me. There was something almost like appeal in her glance. However, she changed her mind, sighed and went out after the others.
Clemency had moved over to the window and stood looking out into the garden.
I went over and stood beside her.
She turned her head slightly towards me.
"Thank goodness that's over," she said - and added with distaste: "What a preposterous room this is!"
"Don't you like it?"
"I can't breathe in it.
There's always a smell of half dead flowers and dust."
I thought she was unjust to the room. But I knew what she meant.
It was very definitely an interior.
It was a woman's room, exotic, soft, shut away from the rude blasts of outside weather.
It was not a room that a man would be happy in for long.
It was not a room where you could relax and read the newspaper and smoke a pipe and put up your feet.
Nevertheless I preferred it to Clemency's own abstract expression of herself upstairs.
On the whole I prefer a boudoir to an operating theatre.
"It's just a stage set.
A background for Magda to play her scenes against." She looked at me. "You realise, don't you, what we've just been doing?
Act II - the family conclave.
Magda arranged it.
It didn't mean a thing.
There was nothing to talk about, nothing to discuss.
It's all settled - finished."
There was no sadness in her voice.
Rather there was satisfaction.
She caught my glance.