His knees had shaken under him with a
new, inexplicable fear. But James Stonehouse had taken no notice. He
had gone on spreading and warming himself before the fire. He had
looked handsome and extraordinarily, almost aggressively, prosperous.
"I shall write a sharp note to Melton's. Damned impertinence. An old
customer like myself. Get the fellow down into the kitchen. The whole
thing will be settled tomorrow. I've had an amazing piece of luck.
Amazing. Met Griffiths--you remember my telling you about Alec
Griffiths, don't you, Christine? Student with me at the University.
Got sent down together. Wonderful fellow--wonderful. Now he's in
business in South Africa. Made his pile in diamonds. Simply rolling.
He's going to let me in. Remarkable chap. Asked him to dinner. Oh,
I've arranged all that on my way up. Gunther's are sending round a
cook and a couple of waiters and all that's necessary. For God's sake,
Christine, try and look as though you were pleased. Get into a pretty
dress and join us. Must do him well, you know. Never do for a man
like that to get a wrong impression. And I want him to see Robert. He
knew Constance before we were married. Put him into his best
clothes----"
"He hasn't got any," Christine had interrupted bitterly.
For a moment it had seemed as though the fatal boundary line would be
crossed. Stonehouse had stared at his son, his eyes brightening to an
electric glare as they picked out the patches of the shabby sailor-suit
and the frantic, mollifying smile on Robert's face had grown stiff as
he had turned himself obediently about.
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