"I mean the Mills," said Philip, looking at his plate. "It's all been settled."
Suddenly Naomi began to cry, at first silently, and then more and more noisily, as if all the dammed emotions of months had given way. Emma rose to comfort her, and Aunt Mabelle, murmuring, "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" helplessly pushed the water-pitcher across the table. Little Ethel, conscious of the strain of the whole meal, and frightened by the outburst of hysterics, began to cry too, so that Aunt Mabelle became occupied in comforting her.
Philip, able to stand it no longer, rose and, flinging back his chair, said, "Damn!" in a loud voice, and walked out of the house. His swearing moved Naomi to new outbursts. She began to cry about the Englishwoman—the source of all her troubles.
It was all horrible, and it was the last time that Philip ever entered his uncle's house.
When he returned late that night he found them all waiting for him in the parlor, ready to attack once more, but they accomplished nothing. He went upstairs and changed his clothes. When he came down, he was dressed for the Mills in an old pair of trousers, an old coat and a flannel shirt. Aunt Mabelle, round and sloppy, was standing in the ghoulish light of the green lamp. The others were all seated in the parlor gloomily, as if brooding over the problem of a daughter gone astray.
From the shadows, Aunt Mabelle seized his arm, "Is it true? Is Naomi going to have a little baby?"
Philip looked at her with a sudden astonishment. "No," he said savagely. "Who gave you such an idea?"
