Zanti, mopping his brow from which perspiration was
dripping.
"No, nonsense. Of course you'll stop. We've got such heaps to talk about--"
Stephen had got the baby now on his shoulder. "Off to Cornwall," he shouted
and charged down the room.
It was at that instant that Peter was conscious that Clare had been
standing, for some moments, in the room. She stood, quite silently, without
moving, by the door, her eyes blazing at him....
His first thought was of that other time when she had found him in the
nursery, of the quarrel that they had had. Then he noticed the state of the
room, the overturned chairs and table. Then he saw Mr. Zanti still wiping
his forehead, but confusedly, and staring at Clare in a shocked hushed way,
as though he were a small boy who had been detected with his fingers in a
jam-pot.
Stephen saw her at last. He put the baby down and came slowly across the
floor. Peter spoke: "Why, Clare! You're back early. We've been having such
a splendid time with Stephen--let me introduce my friends to you--Mr. Zanti
and Mr. Brant... you've heard me speak of them--"
They came towards her. She shook hands with them, regarding them gravely.
"How do you do?"
There was silence. Then Mr. Zanti said--"We must be goin'--longer than we
ought to stop--we 'ave business--"
Peter felt rising in him a cold and surging anger at her treatment of them.
Pages:
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521