The Sandcastle Read Online Free PDF Page B

wrinkled in what Mor had learnt
to recognize as a smile. Demoyte’s heavy sardonic mouth did not follow the
usual conventions about smiling.

‘Why the fancy dress, sir?’ said Mor, indicating the lounge suit.

‘Not a word!’ said Demoyte, conspiratorially. ‘Am I to be summed up by a slip
of a girl? You don’t know what I’ve suffered in these last twenty-four hours!
She wants to see pictures of my parents, pictures of me as a child, pictures of
me as a student. She wants to know what I’ve written. She practically asked if
I kept a diary. It’s like having a psychiatrist in the house. Her sense of
vocation is like a steam hammer. You wouldn’t think it to look at her, would
you? But I’m going to lead her up the garden. I’ve got her thoroughly foxed so
far. She shan’t know what I’m like if I can help it! These clothes are part of
the game. Ssh! here she comes.’ They all went in to dinner.

They had reached the dessert. Nan was methodically eating a pear and Miss
Carter was picking daintily at a branch of very small grapes. Mor was enjoying
the port. Demoyte sat at the head of the table and Mor sat at the foot with the
ladies between them. As Nan had predicted, no place had been set this evening
for Miss Handforth. This person towered over the table, often leaning upon it
as she made a remark, sneezing from time to time, and breathing down the
ladies’ necks.

Demoyte said, ‘I asked old Bledyard to come to complete the party, but he made
some excuse, obviously false. Miss Carter hasn’t met our Bledyard yet.’
Bledyard was the art master at St Bride’s, an eccentric.

‘I look forward to meeting him,’ said Miss Carter. ‘I have seen some of his
work. It is good.’

‘Really?’ said Mor. ‘I didn’t realize Bledyard ever actually painted anything!’

‘He used to, certainly,’ said Miss Carter. ‘I have seen at least three good
landscapes. But I gather now he has theories which interfere with his
painting?’

‘His head is full of cant,’ said Demoyte, ‘which he employs to excuse the fact
that he can’t paint any more. That’s how I see it. But at any rate Bledyard is
a man. He’s got some stuff inside him. Not like the pious dolls poor Evvy will
fill the place with before long. You’d better start clearing out, you infidel,’
he said to Mor.

Mor, who was anxious to skirt the dangerous subject of his clearing out, said
quickly, ‘I believe we are both to lunch with Mr Everard on Thursday, Miss
Carter. I think Bledyard has been invited too.’ He regretted this change of
subject at once, since it struck him that Everard had as usual blundered in
inviting him and failing to invite Nan. This aspect of the matter had not
struck him when Everard had mentioned the lunch that afternoon. Nan put down
her fruit knife noisily and drank some water.

‘You’ll get nothing to drink with Evvy,’ said Demoyte. ‘Better stoke up now.
Have some more wine, Miss Carter. Can’t I persuade you, Mrs Mor? See, Miss
Carter is drinking like a fish, and is more sober than any of us.’ Mor had
noticed this too.

Miss Carter did not rise to this quip. She said rather solemnly, ‘I have only
met Mr Everard once. I look forward to seeing him again.’

‘Impossible!’ said Demoyte. ‘What did you think of poor Evvy? Let’s hear Evvy
summed up!’ He winked at Mor.

Miss Carter hesitated. She cast a quick suspicious look at Demoyte. ‘I think he
has a fresh and gentle face,’ she said firmly. ‘He seems a man without any
malice in him. That is both rare and good.’

Demoyte seemed taken aback for a moment. Mor taunted him with his eyes. ‘Little
puritan!’ said Demoyte. ‘So you reprove us all! Let me fill your glass yet
again.’

No, thank you, Mr Demoyte,‘ said Miss Carter. ’Of course, it takes a long time
to know a man, and this is only an impression. What do you think, Mrs Mor?‘

Mor held his breath. He thought the question rather bold. He hoped that Nan was
not going to