George Passant Read Online Free PDF Page B

the abusive references to himself, and read them in a lilting voice with his head on one side and his long nose tip-tilted into the air.
    Then George teased him affectionately about his religious observances; which seemed, indeed, as eccentric as his beliefs. He had long ago left the Church of England, and still carried on a running controversy with his brother, the Canon; he now acted as steward in the town’s most respectable Methodist congregation. There he went with regularity, with enjoyment, twice each Sunday; but he confessed, with laughter and almost with pride, that he reckoned to ‘get off’ to sleep before any sermon was under weigh.
    ‘Did you manage to get off last Sunday, Mr Martineau?’ said George.
    ‘I did in the morning, George. But at night we had a stranger preaching – and there was something disturbing about his tone of voice.’
    George beamed with laughter; he sank back into his armchair, and surveyed the room; it was a pleasant room, lofty, painted cream, with a print of Ingres’ Source on the wall opposite the fireplace. For once, he did not want his evening in respectable society to end.
    And Jack, who came in for half an hour, guessed that all was well. He had been warned by Olive that pressure might be used upon George; but George was so surprisingly at home that Jack’s own spirits became high. He left early: soon afterwards the room thinned out, and only George, Morcom and I stayed with Martineau.
    Then Eden came in. He walked across the room to the fireplace.
    George had half-risen from his chair as soon as he saw Eden: and now stayed in suspense, his hands on the arms of his chair, uncertain whether to offer it. But Eden, who was apologising to Martineau, did not notice him.
    ‘I’m sorry I’m so late, Howard,’ Eden said affably to Martineau. ‘My wife has some people in, and I couldn’t escape a hand of cards.’
    The dome of his head was bald; his face was broad and open, and his lips easily flew up at the corners into an amiable smile. He was a few years older than his partner, and looked more their profession by all signs but one: he dressed in a more modern, informal mode. Tonight he was wearing a comfortable grey lounge suit which rode easily on his substantial figure. Talking to Martineau, he warmed a substantial seat before the fire.
    George made a false start, and then said: ‘Wouldn’t you like to sit down, Mr Eden?’
    At last Eden attended.
    ‘I don’t see why I should turn you out, Passant,’ he said. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t really want to leave the fire.’
    But George was still half-standing, and Eden went on: ‘Still, if you insist on making yourself uncomfortable–’
    Eden settled into George’s chair. Martineau said: ‘Will you be kind, George, and give Harry Eden a cup of coffee?’
    Busily George set about the task. He lifted the big canister and filled a cup. The cup in hand, he turned to Eden: ‘Will that be all right, Mr Eden?’
    ‘Well, do you know, I think I’d like it white.’
    George was in a hurry to apologise. He went to put the cup down on the table: Eden, thinking George was giving him the cup, held out a hand: George could not miss the inside of Eden’s forearm, and the coffee flew over Eden’s coat and the thigh of his trousers.
    For an instant George stood immobile. He blushed from forehead to neck.
    When he managed to say that he was sorry, Eden replied in an annoyed tone: ‘It was entirely my fault.’ He was vigorously rubbing himself with his handkerchief. Breaking out of his stupor, George tried to help, but Eden said: ‘I can look after it, Passant, I can look after it perfectly well.’
    George went on his knees, and attempted to mop up the pool of coffee on the carpet: then Martineau made him sit down, and gave him a cigarette.
    Actually, if it was anyone’s fault, it was Eden’s. But I knew that George could not believe it.
    Martineau set us in conversation again. Eden joined in. After a few minutes,