The stately silent meal went on, unutterably dull, and impeccably exquisite. A vagabond or a hungry tramp would almost have preferred to go unfed than to have his cravings so joylessly satisfied, but then the Staniers were not tramps or vagabonds, and this was the way they had dinner. Alone with Aunt Hester or even with the additional incumbrance of her father and mother, Violet could have hoisted the standard of ordinary human sociability, and made a normal little festival of the meal, but neither she nor Aunt Hester could struggle long, without the dispelling influence of Colin’s beam, against that paralyzing effect of old Lady Yardley’s presence, her silence and her steady watchfulness. It was like talking in the presence of an open coffin, where lay something corpse-like yet alive.... Violet, as usual, had begun dinner with her invariable effort to pull them all out of that deadly pit into which they nightly descended. “Dennis walked at least ten yards this evening, Mamma, without falling down once,” she said to Mrs. Stanier. “Colin will be surprised to see how he has got on.” For a second Lady Yardley’s eyelids flickered at the name of Colin. “He will get on quickly now,” said Mrs. Stanier. “When babies once begin to walk, they soon pick it up.” This was a very just observation but lacked any initiative touch. “I think he’s rather forward,” said Violet. “He’s only fourteen months old.” “Yes, just fourteen months,” said Mrs. Stanier. “Fancy!” Violet wheeled to Lady Hester. “And where did you go, Aunt Hester?” she said. “Did you find any coolness? It’s the hottest day we’ve had this year.” “Yes, my dear, it’s like an oven,” said Lady Hester. “I hate the summer. It broils my bones, and then there’s a thunder-storm, which scares me stiff.” “Yes, a glass of sherry,” said Ronald. He took up the menu-card and held it up to his monocled eye. A short silence fell. Violet tried again. “And when are you going off to Aix, father?” she said. “I hear it’s tremendously full this year.” “Next week,” said Ronald. Violet let her eyes sweep round the pictured walls. Just opposite her was the picture of Colin, painted by the most famous artist of the day. He more than any of the other portraits seemed to have drawn close to the dinner-table. He had stepped boldly forth, in another moment he would be standing at old Lady Yardley’s elbow.... Lady Hester made an effort. The midges had bitten her during her walk, and she felt what she would have called ‘scratchy.’ “Well, I could never see the sense of filling yourself up with stinking waters,” she said, “and being pounded as if you were a heap of clothes at the wash.” Ronald put down his menu-card. Always he pretended not to be deaf. “Beg your pardon, Hester?” he said. There are many things which it is easy to say once but impossible to repeat. This seemed one of them, and the next silence was rather longer. “You will like your game of whist to-night, Granny?” asked Violet at length.