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She brought one hand, with a little downward, spiral movement, to rest upon the other hand, the first two fingers of each interlocked. "Oh! Oh! That's a secret sign you made," cried Tibby. "Well, maybe it is," answered Gyp, putting her spoon in her soup with assumed indifference. "Some silly girls' society, I'll bet," put in Graham with a tormenting grin.
"Ye-es," said Tibby, and then held his mouth open in a curious quiver, as if he, too, had thoughts of Mr. Vyse, had seen round, through, over, and beyond Mr. Vyse, had weighed Mr. Vyse, grouped him, and finally dismissed him as having no possible bearing on the subject under discussion. That bleat of Tibby's infuriated Helen.
"Who ARE the Wilcoxes?" said Tibby, a question that sounds silly, but was really extremely subtle, as his aunt found to her cost when she tried to answer it. "I don't MANAGE the Wilcoxes; I don't see where they come IN." "No more do I," agreed Helen. "It's funny that we just don't lose sight of them. Out of all our hotel acquaintances, Mr. Wilcox is the only one who has stuck.
His was the leisure without sympathy an attitude as fatal as the strenuous: a little cold culture may be raised on it, but no art. His sisters had seen the family danger, and had never forgotten to discount the gold islets that raised them from the sea. Tibby gave all the praise to himself, and so despised the struggling and the submerged.
I'm tired of these rich people who pretend to be poor, and think it shows a nice mind to ignore the piles of money that keep their feet above the waves. I stand each year upon six hundred pounds, and Helen upon the same, and Tibby will stand upon eight, and as fast as our pounds crumble away into the sea they are renewed from the sea, yes, from the sea.
Gyp and Tibby went upstairs with her; Graham disappeared with Pepperpot. "What do you think of my girl?" John Westley asked his sister-in-law. They had gone back to the library. Isobel sat on a stool close to Uncle Johnny's chair. "She seems like an unusually nice, jolly child. But " Mrs. Westley looked a little distressed. "May she not be homesick here, John so far from her folks?"
"You mean to keep proportion, and that's heroic, it's Greek, and I don't see why it shouldn't succeed with you. Go on and fight with him and help him. Don't ask ME for help, or even for sympathy. Henceforward I'm going my own way. I mean to be thorough, because thoroughness is easy. I mean to dislike your husband, and to tell him so. I mean to make no concessions to Tibby.
"If you are going to Germany, go and pack; if you aren't, go and call on the Wilcoxes instead of me." "But, Meg, Meg, I don't love the young gentleman; I don't love the young O lud, who's that coming down the stairs? I vow 'tis my brother. O crimini!" A male even such a male as Tibby was enough to stop the foolery.
"What is it?" she called. "Oh, what's wrong? Is Tibby ill?" Helen spoke to her two companions, who fell back. Then she bore forward furiously. "They're starving!" she shouted. "I found them starving!" "Who? Why have you come?" "The Basts." "Oh, Helen!" moaned Margaret. "Whatever have you done now?" "He has lost his place. He has been turned out of his bank. Yes, he's done for.
"And it's silly to think that Uncle Johnny will like her better than us she's just a poor child he feels sorry for." "Do you suppose mountain people dress differently from us?" asked Tibby. Graham promptly answered: "Yes, silly she'll wear goatskin and she'll yodel." "Anyway," Isobel rose languidly, "we don't want to forget about Uncle Peter " "And our prestige," interrupted Gyp, tormentingly.
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