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Updated: August 10, 2024
There were doleful little stories of the last days to be related, and Petsy II. was tiresome, and insisted on defying the world generally with shrill barkings from the top of the small mound, conscious perhaps that his helpless predecessor slept below.
She saw with acute vividness the ludicrous side of everybody, herself included, and to her mind the arch-humourist of all was her brother, whom she was quite unable to take seriously. She dressed as if she had looted a milliner's shop and had put on in a great hurry anything that came to hand. She towered over her sister-in-law as she kissed her, and Petsy, safe in her citadel, barked shrilly.
Nobody wants me; even Petsy, when she died, didn't want me to be near her, and then it began to strike me that perhaps you might want me. There was no one else, and who should want me if my son did not? I never gave you the chance before, God forgive me, and now perhaps it is too late. You have learned to do without me." That was bitterly true; the truth of it stabbed Michael.
She on her side had little to say except to record the welfare of Petsy, to remark on the beauty of October, and tell him how many shooting parties they had had. His correspondence with his father had been less frequent, and absolutely one-sided, since Lord Ashbridge took no notice at all of his letters.
Velcome, velcome Tchooge, said the elder of the party, with a strong German accent. Miss Petsy vill owe me a kiss. And cheerfully will I pay It, my good sir, cried the soft voice of Elizabeth; which sounded, in the clear air of the hills. Like tones of silver, amid the loud cries of Richard. I have always a kiss for my old friend. Major Hartmann.
There had been a second interview, no less fruitless than the first, and Lord Ashbridge had told him that when next his presence was desired at home, he would be informed of the fact. His mother had cried in a mild, trickling fashion, but it was quite obvious that in her heart of hearts she was more concerned with a bilious attack of peculiar intensity that had assailed Petsy.
Lady Ashbridge quite composedly replaced the cream-jug. "Poor Petsy!" she observed. "I ask you to attend to me, Marion," he said. "But I am attending to you very well, Robert," said she, "and I understand you perfectly. You do not want Michael to be a musician in September and wear long hair and perhaps play at concerts.
"I have given Barbara the blue room," said Lady Ashbridge, after a little thought. "I am afraid she may bring her great dog with her. I hope he will not quarrel with Petsy. Petsy does not like other dogs." The day had been very hot, and Lord Ashbridge, not having taken any exercise, went off to have a round of golf with the professional of the links that lay not half a mile from the house.
He gave his treble little giggle, for on the whole it answered better not to be dignified with Barbara, whenever he could remember not to be; and Lady Ashbridge, still nursing Petsy, threw a bombshell of the obvious to explode the conversation. "Og has two mutton-chops for his dinner," she said, "and he is growing still. Fancy!"
Her maid was standing behind her holding the inevitable Petsy, and she herself hovered hesitatingly in the doorway. "I heard you come up, Michael," she said, "and I wondered if it would annoy you if I came in to have a little talk with you. But I won't come in if it would annoy you. I only thought I should like a little chat with you, quietly, secure from interruptions."
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