Travelling to London in the corner of a first-class carriage Mr
Entwhistle gave himself up to somewhat uneasy thought over that
extraordinary remark made by Cora Lansquenet. Of course Cora was a
rather unbalanced and excessively stupid woman, and she had been noted,
even as a girl, for the embarrassing manner in which she had blurted out
unwelcome truths. At least, he didn't mean truths - that was quite the
wrong word to use. Awkward statements - that was a much better term.
In his mind he went back over the immediate sequence to that
unfortunate remark. The combined stare of many startled and disapproving
eyes had roused Cora to a sense of the enormity of what she had said.
Maude had exclaimed, "Really, Cora!" George had said, "My dear Aunt Cora." Somebody else had said, "What do you mean?"
And at once Cora Lansquenet, abashed, and convicted of enormity, had burst into fluttering phrases.
"Oh I'm sorry - I didn't mean - oh, of course, it was very stupid
of me, but I did think from what he said - Oh, of course I know it's
quite all right, but his death was so sudden - please forget that I said
anything at all - I didn't mean to be so stupid - I know I'm always
saying the wrong thing."
And then the momentary upset had died down and there had been a
practical discussion about the disposition of the late Richard
Abernethie's personal effects. The house and its contents, Mr Entwhistle
supplemented, would be put up for sale.
Cora's unfortunate gaffe had been forgotten. After all, Cora had
always been, if not subnormal, at any rate embarrassingly na?ve. She had
never had any idea of what should or should not be said. At nineteen it
had not mattered so much. The mannerisms of an enfant terrible can
persist to then, but an enfant terrible of nearly fifty is decidedly
disconcerting. To blurt out unwelcome truths -
Mr Entwhistle's train of thought came to an abrupt check. It was
the second time that that disturbing word had occurred. Truths. And why
was it so disturbing? Because, of course, that had always been at the
bottom of the embarrassment that Cora's outspoken comments had caused.
It was because her na?ve statements had been either true or had
contained some grain of truth that they had been so
embarrassing!
Although in the plump woman of forty-nine, Mr Entwhistle had been
able to see little resemblance to the gawky girl of earlier days,
certain of Cora's mannerisms had persisted - the slight bird-like twist
of the head as she brought out a particularly outrageous remark - a kind
of air of pleased expectancy. In just such a way had Cora once
commented on the figure of the kitchen-maid. "Mollie can hardly get near
the kitchen table, her stomach sticks out so. It's only been like that
the last month or two. I wonder why she's getting so fat?"
Cora had been quickly hushed. The Abernethie household was
Victorian in tone. The kitchen-maid had disappeared from the premises
the next day, and after due inquiry the second gardener had been ordered
to make an honest woman of her and had been presented with a cottage in
which to do so.
Far-off memories - but they had their point...
Mr Entwhistle examined his uneasiness more closely. What was there
in Cora's ridiculous remarks that had remained to tease his subconscious
in this manner? Presently, he isolated two phrases. "I did think from
what he said -" and "his death was so sudden..."
