Cyril
seemed to be her boy and not Samuel's boy at all. She avoided her
husband's glance. This was very odd.
Then Cyril returned, and his parents composed their faces and he
deposited, next to the florin, a sham meerschaum pipe in a case, a
tobacco-pouch, a cigar of which one end had been charred but the
other not cut, and a half-empty packet of cigarettes without a
label.
Nothing could be hid from Mr. Povey. The details were distressing.
"So Cyril is a liar and a thief, to say nothing of this smoking!"
Mr. Povey concluded.
He spoke as if Cyril had invented strange and monstrous sins. But
deep down in his heart a little voice was telling him, as regards
the smoking, that HE had set the example. Mr. Baines had never
smoked. Mr. Critchlow never smoked. Only men like Daniel smoked.
Thus far Mr. Povey had conducted the proceedings to his own
satisfaction. He had proved the crime. He had made Cyril confess.
The whole affair lay revealed. Well--what next? Cyril ought to
have dissolved in repentance; something dramatic ought to have
occurred. But Cyril simply stood with hanging, sulky head, and
gave no sign of proper feeling.
Mr. Povey considered that, until something did happen, he must
improve the occasion.
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