THE FAT IN THE FIRE

Peter, self-appointed sub-editor to the Gem, was revising a dissertation of Vyvian’s on lace.  It was a difficult business, this.  Vyvian, in Peter’s opinion, needed so much expurgation; and yet one couldn’t be unkind.  Peter wished very much that Hilary would get rid of Vyvian.  Vyvian often wrote such tosh; though he was clever, too.  Came of being a bounder, perhaps.  Peter had often noticed that bounders were apt to write tosh, even clever bounders.  Such a sensitive bounder, too; that made it extraordinarily difficult to edit him satisfactorily.  Decidedly Hilary ought to get rid of him, gently but finally.  That would have the added advantage of freeing Peter from the obligation of “making a third” with him and Rhoda Johnson.  Also, one would feel safer; one didn’t really trust Vyvian not to be doing little private deals of his own; so little, in fact, did one trust him that the names of dealers were rigorously taboo now on the Gem.

Peter sighed over this rather tiresome article on lace.  He wanted to be finishing one of his own on well-heads; and then he wanted to go out with Leslie and look for stone lions for Leslie’s gate-posts; and then he and Leslie were going to dine with Lord Evelyn Urquhart.  There were a lot of jolly things to be done, when he had finished with Vyvian’s lace.

Peter was quite enjoying life just now; it was interesting trying to set the Gem on its legs; there were immense potentialities in the Gem now that toshery with dealers had been put an end to.  And to be allowed to write ad infinitum about well-heads or anything else was simply splendid.

Peter heard, with a small, abstracted part of his mind, someone talking to Hilary in the hall.  The low-toned conversation vaguely worried his subconscious self; he wished people would converse more audibly.  But probably it was private....  Peter suddenly frowned irritably and sat upright, biting at his pen.  He was annoyed with himself.  It was so impertinent, so much the sort of thing he most disliked, to be speculating, as he had suddenly found himself doing, on the nature of another person’s private business.  Had he come to that?  It must be some emanation from that silly, syrupy article of Vyvian’s; Vyvian, Peter felt sure, would have towards a private conversation just such an attitude that he had detected in himself.  He settled himself to his job again, and made a rather savage excision of two long sentences.

The outer door shut.  Peter heard Hilary’s steps crossing the hall alone, rather slowly, till they stopped at the door of the saloon.  Hilary came in; his head was thoughtfully bent, and he didn’t at first see Peter at the table in a corner.  When he did see him, he started violently.  Hilary had such weak nerves; he was always starting for no reason.

Peter said, “Things going on all right?” and Hilary said, “Yes, quite,” and stood silent for a moment, his mobile face flickering nervously, as it did when he was tired or embarrassed.