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Updated: June 4, 2025
Ransome, though she had recognized her as the one woman Ranny ought to have married, the one woman worthy of him, and she would have continued to welcome her in that capacity as long as Ranny had refrained from marrying her. For Ranny's mother knew that in Violet her motherhood had had no rival. Violet's passion for Ranny, Ranny's passion for Violet, had not robbed her of her son.
On one of these labels, Hydrarg. Amm., which had no meaning for him, Ranny fixed a fascinated gaze, thus avoiding the revelations of his mother's face. For Ranny's mother's face showed that she had been crying. Plump, and yet not large, her figure and her face were formed for gaiety and charm.
And Ranny began all over again and made out another set of accounts on the house basis and allowing for the char. Impossible; even in Jew's Row or Warple Way. Skimp as he would in personal expenditure, on the house basis the two ends of Ranny's income simply wouldn't meet. All the same, he began looking for the house.
That he should have swooped down from his eagle flight with Uncle Ranny's sophisticated group to snatch her out of the pool of youthful minnows was a compliment she did not forget. "Well," he said, lazily sinking into his corner of the car and observing her with satisfaction, "haven't you something pretty to say to me, after I've come all these miles to hear it?" Eleanor laughed in embarrassment.
He showed it in his ill-considered and ungovernable determination to be born, and it was hard to say which of them, Ranny or his mother, more nearly died of it. She must have been aware that there was a hitch somewhere; for, referring again and again, as she did, to Ranny's venturesomeness, she would say, "It beats me where he gets it from."
I've just sent Hannah up to telephone my brother to see if she is there." "She probably is," Quin spoke with more assurance than he felt. "About what time did she leave here?" "It must have been between six-thirty and seven. How long would it take her to get out to Ranny's?" "Depends on whether she went in her machine or a street-car," said Quin evasively.
She had let them to a friend of his Leonard Mercier. She gathered from his silence that it was all right. Not a muscle of Ranny's face betrayed to her that it was all wrong. Ever since his marriage he had kept Leonard Mercier at a distance.
For he was not altogether virgin to the experience he was undergoing. It belonged to certain moods of his childhood and his adolescence when more than once, in Wandsworth Parish Church, he had been stirred mysteriously by the tender music of the Evening Service, and by the singing of certain hymns. There were layers upon layers of emotion sunk beyond memory in Ranny's soul.
Ransome closed his eyes again as if in pain. "I'd have given it you, Randall," he said, presently. He had opened his eyes, but they wandered uneasily, avoiding his son's gaze. "If I'd had it. But I hadn't. I've been doing badly." And again his eyelids dropped and lifted. "Things have gone wrong that hadn't ought to if I'd been what I should be." There was anguish in Ranny's father's eyes now.
The suspicion of collusion would in his case be a far more dangerous thing. It was what he had been specially warned against. These two ideas, collusion and cohabitation, struggled for supremacy in Ranny's brain. They seemed to him mutually exclusive; and all it came to was that, with his suit so imminent, he couldn't be too careful.
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