The sound of a gramophone followed him, as the astonished maid peered after him.
‘Losh keep’s a’!’ she said to herself as she shut the door.
Sarah Murray observed her brother’s dejection when he came into the sitting-room, where she was knitting by the fire.
‘What’s the matter, William? Didn’t you see Mrs Hector?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is she going to take a stall, then?’
‘I think so; yes, I believe she will.’
Sarah knitted on in silence. If William wouldn’t tell her she wasn’t going to ask.
‘Supper’s nearly ready,’ she said finally.
‘Was Ned all right at tea-time?’ asked William, without lifting his head from his hand.
‘Not so bad. That’s to say, he never said a word.’
‘He is better, Sarah, don’t you think?’
Sarah scratched her head with a knitting-needle.
‘You can’t call it a way of living to lie in bed every day till dinner-time and sit up every night till two in the morning and never set a foot across the outside door,’ she said sharply. ‘The only difference I see. is that I’ve got the upper hand of him now.’
‘What makes you think that, Sarah?’
‘I’ve daured him,’ said Sarah. ‘Ever since one night I went into his room and stood up to him. He knows now that I can stand up to him, and we’ve had less trouble ever since. There’s no more word of Teenie giving notice, nor there won’t be as long as I’m in the house, and Ned knows it. So I just let him lie in bed in the mornings; it keeps him out of the way. I believe, William, that it’s yon breakdown of his he fashes himself about: I think he can’t account for it. So I rub that into him between times…. It’s just pure daftness to put up with him,’ she added angrily. ‘What kind of a life is it for a laddie of his age? He’s just been pampered in this house. But you won’t find strangers willing to do that. It might do him good to be living away from us. Except that I don’t see what kind of a job he could possibly be any good at.’
‘You’re wrong there, Sarah; he’s a very able fellow, Ned.’
‘He is, is he? Pity his ability can’t be turned in a more useful direction…. I must say I don’t think much of intellect,’ finished Sarah. ‘People who can pass examinations often don’t seem to be fit for anything else.’
If that was a furtive fling at Mrs Hector Shand it missed the mark; William seemed not to have heard it.
Sarah collected her knitting and went to see about supper.
Ned came down to supper and sat silently hunched over his plate. William was uncommonly silent too, and Sarah felt a little sulky as she filled the plates and passed them down. She could not help wishing for once that she had a sensible man like John Shand in the house. William was all right, of course; but he was in a queer mood. He had been having queer moods lately. And he was seeing a good deal too much of that young Mrs Hector. What had happened to-night, she wondered.
After supper, as Ned was sliding out of the door, William called: ‘Ned!’
Ned paused suspiciously.
‘Won’t you play me a game of chess!’
‘No, I’m busy.’
Ned pulled the door behind him with his usual force but the usual slam did not result, for William had caught hold of it.
‘What are you busy at? Mathematics?’
Ned thrust his head in and jerked a thumb at Sarah.
‘Needn’t think you’re going to copy her,’ he said.
‘I was only asking,’ said William gently, ‘because I’m interested. I know you’re a wonder at mathematics.’
‘She thinks she knows everything,’ said Ned, still glaring at Sarah.
But he did not go.
‘I’m not doing mathematics; I’m writing a story,’ he shot out suddenly.
‘A story?’ William was pleased.
Sarah shrugged and began to collect the dishes.
‘A story,’ said Ned emphatically. ‘About the world as it should be. Every house in all the towns empty. Nothing but cats and dogs. No women.’
His eye was still fixed on Sarah’s back as she vanished into the kitchen. Then he looked doubtfully at his brother.
‘I’d like to see it,’ said William eagerly. ‘May I come up?’
‘What d’you want to see it for, all of a sudden?’
Ned’s face was twisted with suspicion; his eyes had a dull, guarded look.
How thin the poor fellow’s getting! thought William, and he put his hand on Ned’s shoulder.
‘My dear lad,’ he said, ‘my dear Ned, just because you’re my brother.’ He let his hand lie, endeavouring to convey his affection through the contact.
Ned shook it off furiously.
‘Who do you think I am?’ he shouted. ‘Jesus Christ?’
He spat venomously in his brother’s face and slammed the door.
THREE
Elizabeth was still lying on her bed when Hector came home. She could see a patch of the night sky through the window. She had long stopped sobbing, and in the centre of the black cloud which encompassed her world a nucleus of calm weather was forming. She stared at the patch of sky; there was enough moonlight to illumine it faintly; clouds seemed to be marching over it to an unheard processional music, punctuated now and then by a star. What a fool she was, she thought. The love between Hector and herself was as enduring as those stars behind the fugitive clouds.
Her heart leapt as she heard him come in. He had not stayed at the Club, then; he had come back to her. She half turned, listening; his feet seemed to be mounting the stairs into her very bosom.
‘Elizabeth!’ he said, opening the door. His voice was humble. She sat up and held out her arms in the darkness.
‘My darling, my darling,’ she said.
With inarticulate murmurs they caressed each other. The bliss of relaxation began to steal over Elizabeth, the peace of reunion, but Hector was still clutching her tight and pressing his face against her. She stroked his cheek.
‘How could you do it, my love?’ she asked.
‘I was just mad with jealousy,’ said Hector, still clinging. ‘Jealous of that damned
