Over the River (eotc-3) by John Galsworthy

Author:John Galsworthy [Galsworthy, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: prose_classic

CHAPTER 22

When young Croom had withdrawn into the sleet and wind of that discomforting day, he left behind him a marked gloom. Clare went to her room saying her head was bad and she was going to lie down. The other three sat among the tea-things, speaking only to the dogs, sure sign of mental disturbance.

At last Dinny got up: “Well, my dears, gloom doesn’t help. Let’s look on the bright side. They might have been scarlet instead of white as snow.”

The General said, more to himself than in reply:

“They must defend. That fellow can’t have it all his own way.”

“But, Dad, to have Clare free, with a perfectly clear conscience, would be nice and ironic, and ever so much less fuss!”

“Lie down under an accusation of that sort?”

“Her name will go even if she wins. No one can spend a night in a car with a young man with impunity. Can they, Mother?”

Lady Charwell smiled faintly.

“I agree with your father, Dinny. It seems to me revolting that Clare should be divorced when she’s done nothing except been a little foolish. Besides, it would be cheating the law, wouldn’t it?”

“I shouldn’t think the law would care, dear. However—!” And Dinny was silent, scrutinising their rueful faces, aware that they set some mysterious store by marriage and divorce which she did not, and that nothing she could say would alter it.

“The young man,” said the General, “seemed a decent fellow, I thought. He’ll have to come up and see the lawyers when we do.”

“I’d better go up with Clare tomorrow evening, Dad, and get Uncle Lawrence to arrange you a meeting with the lawyers for after lunch on Monday. I’ll telephone you and Tony Croom from Mount Street in the morning.”

The General nodded and got up. “Beast of a day!” he said, and put his hand on his wife’s shoulder: “Don’t let this worry you, Liz. They can but tell the truth. I’ll go to the study and have another shot at that new pigsty. You might look in later, Dinny…”

At all critical times Dinny felt more at home in Mount Street than she did at Condaford. Sir Lawrence’s mind was so much more lively than her father’s; Aunt Em’s inconsequence at once more bracing and more soothing than her mother’s quiet and sensible sympathy. When a crisis was over, or if it had not begun, Condaford was perfect, but it was too quiet for nerve storms or crucial action. As country houses went, it was, indeed, old-fashioned, inhabited by the only county family who had been in the district for more than three or four generations. The Grange had an almost institutional repute. “Condaford Grange” and “the Cherrells of Condaford” were spoken of as curiosities. The week-ending or purely sporting existence of the big ‘places’ was felt to be alien to them. The many families in the smaller ‘places’ round seemed to make country life into a sort of cult, organising tennis and bridge parties, village entertainments, and the looking

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