When she left he insisted on seeing her home with her sister. It took him twenty-five minutes, and when he returned he found Serge buffooning for his mother and making her laugh till she cried.
"Oh! dear. Oh! dear," she cried. "I haven't laughed so much for years. You'd never think Serge was a grown man, would you, Frederic?"
"My good brother," said Serge solemnly, "you gave a remarkable description just now of the house of the Lawries--an unhappy, middle-class house. You said it felt like a prison with that raw-boned old Scotswoman for goaler. I've been a free man all my life and I feel about this house exactly what you felt about that. There's fear in it and unfriendliness. I don't understand why, but I will understand before I've done."
The two brothers were standing close together, and Serge had unwittingly raised his voice. Mrs. Folyat came and laid her hand on his arm and said:
"We're not quarrelling, mother," replied Serge, "Frederic is annoyed with me. He doesn't know why, nor do I. It's those Lawries have upset him. It's all right, mother. You go to bed. I'm a disturbing influence at present. You'll get used to me and I shall become a habit like everything else."
"It isn't fair to talk to mother like that. She doesn't understand you."
"Of course she doesn't. It isn't any good talking. Go to bed mother."
Frederic led his mother to the door and went out with her. Streeten declared that he must go and Mary saw him to the door.
Turning, Serge found Minna watching him with a broad grin on her face. She was as tall as he, big and fine, and he thought:
"Well, she at least is a handsome woman. Pity she doesn't dress better."
"I'm glad you made Frederic feel small. He's a beast."
"You're quite right about this house, Serge. It is a prison. It's been getting worse and worse ever since James died. It was awful, of course."
"How can I? I've no money; can't make any--and I've no intention of marrying a poor man. It isn't so easy to fall in love either--unless you're like Bub."
"Gertrude. She's in love with that young Bennett Lawrie. She goes to his church and looks at him as though he were a beautifully-cooked chop. He is rather like that. I shall call him the mutton-chop when he comes."