Meg still knelt, her eyes damp, her hands clenched. "It's unjust," she gasped. "It's unfair to me and my child!"
Renny put his hands under her arms and heaved her to her feet. He whispered vehemently into her ear: "Don't make a show of yourself, Meggie! Remember, Mr. Fennel's here." Inwardly he thanked God for the presence of Mr. Fennel. It had certainly saved them from a terrible scene. She relapsed against his shoulder.
The rector himself was wishing that the tea party had been more placid. He observed, pulling at his beard: "I always think that an unexpected present is the most delightful." He could not resist adding: "And jewels are so beautiful on young hands."
Adeline appeared not to have heard. She finished her cake, eating the moist crumbs from her saucer with a spoon. But after a little she extended her bereft right hand toward him, with a flourish, and said: "You don't think they suit my old hands, eh?"
He knew how to mollify her.
"I have never seen hands," he said, "better shaped for the wearing of rings."
She clasped them on her stomach and surveyed the scene before her. There was trouble in the air, and she had brewed it. She had, directly or indirectly, made almost every being in the room. The pattern of the room was centrifugal, and she was the arch designer, the absolute centre. She felt complacent, firm, and strong. She fixed her eyes on Renny, and gave him a waggish nod. She knew he did not mind young Pheasant's having the ruby. He grinned back at her. He had Wakefield on his knee.
Adeline kept on wagging her head at Renny, but now with reproof. "Too old to be nursed," she said.
"I know," replied Renny, "but he will clamber over me." He pushed Wakefield from his knee.
"Poor darling! He looks like a young robin pushed from the nest! Tell me, did you pray for me last night?"
"Yes, my grandmother."
