Page:The White Peacock, Lawrence, 1911.djvu/453

Rh them. There’s one thing about them, though, they don’t drink, so that’s a blessing.”

“Why!” I said, “Have you had much trouble that way?”

She lowered her voice to a pitch which was sufficiently mysterious to attract the attention of the boys.

“I shouldn’t say anything if it wasn’t that you were like brothers,” she said. “But he did begin to have dreadful drinking bouts. You know it was always spirits, and generally brandy:—and that makes such work with them. You’ve no idea what he’s like when he’s evil-drunk. Sometimes he’s all for talk, sometimes he’s laughing at everything, and sometimes he’s just snappy. And then——”here her tones grew ominous,“—he’ll come home evil-drunk.”

At the memory she grew serious.

“You couldn’t imagine what it’s like, Cyril,” she said. “It’s like having Satan in the house with you, or a black tiger glowering at you. I’m sure nobody knows what I’ve suffered with him——”

The children stood with large, awful eyes and paling lips, listening.

“But he’s better now?” I said.

“Oh, yes—since Gertie came,”—she looked fondly at the baby in her arms—“He’s a lot better now. You see he always wanted a girl, and he’s very fond of her—isn’t he, pet?—are you your Dadda’s girlie?—and Mamma’s too, aren’t you?”

The baby turned with sudden coy shyness, and clung to her mother’s neck. Meg kissed her fondly, then the child laid her cheek against her mother’s.