She was not alone in her belief, or her disapproval. Cynthia had seen Wendell. On many occasions she had been included in the parties of which he was a member, and she realised that Elizabeth liked him more than she knew. Having come to the conclusion that Elizabeth neither loved nor understood Stephen, Cynthia thought her friendship with a man of Wendell’s calibre dangerous. Inwardly she raged, for she felt herself to be impotent. Elizabeth did not like her; therefore she would not be advised by her. It was equally impossible to drop a word of warning in Stephen’s ear. That, she knew, would be disastrous, almost criminal. Philosophically she thought, If Stephen chooses to be a blind fool, he must take the consequences. To Anthony, however, she spoke her mind, characteristically.

“I do not like the Tertium Quid,” she drawled, over Christopher’s curly head.

Anthony looked up.

“What?”

“Kipling,” said Cynthia.

“Yes, I know. Who?”

“The treacle-eyed Wendell.”

Anthony was interested, and put down his book.

“Really? But why Tertium Quid?”

Cynthia addressed her son.

“My cherub, will you be stupid, like your father, when you grow up? I love stupid men.”

Christopher grinned cheerfully, and said Dad-dad-dad.

“I don’t see it, Cynny,” Anthony said.

“I know you don’t, but it’s none the less obvious. The treacle-eyed one has found the soft spot in Elizabeth’s heart.”

“D’you honestly think that, Cynny? He doesn’t shine much beside Stephen.”

“No matter. He admires, he adulates. What more does Elizabeth want?”

“That’s unfair, Cynthia. Beastly unfair.”

“My dear, I shall begin to be jealous of Elizabeth soon.”

He smiled.

“I like her, Cyn. Probably because I’m stupid. I think she’s a thoroughly nice little thing. You know, Stephen’s at all joy, if you have to live with him.”

“No. He wanted a very different wife.”

“I’m not so sure. I know you and Mater had set your hearts on Nina, but I always thought you were wrong.”

“Nina, or someone like her. Someone who had the same interests as Stephen. Someone brainy.”

Anthony began to knock his pipe out.

“Funny how you clever women go off the rails,” he remarked. “Take a simple example. Ourselves. I don’t know a darn thing about verse; I can’t grasp mysticism, and I loathe William Morris. What about it?”

Cynthia threw up her hand.

“Yes. Touché. Perhaps we’re exceptional.”

“Not likely. If Stephen had married Nina they’d have quarrelled from morn till night. Each one striving to go one better than the other.”

Cynthia rested her cheek against Christopher’s little round head.

“You may be right. You often are. But I can’t believe that Stephen’s marriage is a success.”

“I don’t see why it shouldn’t be—eventually,” said Anthony.

Chapter Seventeen