Dance of the Years by Margery Allingham

matter, just after dinner at night.
    James always liked the dining-room because it was cool and opulent, with shining wood and red and gold walls. It had a decent, solid grandeur about it, which always made him feel secure. To-night it looked more luxuriant than ever, for it was partially in shadow, and the sunset light came in yellow and caressing through the open west windows. Dorothy had set out the best silver, and the air was heavy with flowers and the intimate perfume of Burgundy.
    The two men sat facing one another, and the first thing that struck James when he saw them was that they were terrifyingly alike. They were dressed very differently, for Young Will had gone over to the very high breeches and very short waistcoat that Mr. Topham had made so fashionable. But in spite of that, James saw them as almost identical; a man both old and young. The sight was very nearly too much for him; he nearly panicked with rage and jealousy.
    Young Will was looking at him with the same speculation which he had sometimes seen in his father’s face, and they were still staring at one another when old Galantry barked at James telling him to pay his duty to his half-brother. James had never merited this tone from anyone before, and it occurred to him that he must be on show insome way, since Jason used the same voice to an animal he was selling. So he went forward at once and bowed to the younger man in the way the Vicar had taught him, and enquired most solicitously how he did.
    Because the obeisance was old fashioned it pleased Galantry, and struck Young Will as false; but it was gracefully done, and there was nothing in it to complain about. Young Will rubbed his ear uneasily; a gesture of his father’s, which sent another stab of jealousy through James.
    â€œOh, I know, I know,” Young Will said uncomfortably. “He’s a good fellow. How d’ye do, James? You’ve got a mighty pair of shoulders on you, brother. But that’s not the point, is it, sir?” he added, turning to his father. “It’s the damned silly tale. Be reasonable.”
    â€œI resent it,” said old Galantry warningly. “I resent it very much, you know.”
    â€œNot nearly so much as you’d resent an intimation from the school.” The words were only muttered, and Young Will stared moodily into the horn of his wine-glass. He knew his mission was vulgar, and he disliked it intensely.
    Old Galantry grew brick coloured. He clapped his hand to the place where his sword would have been had he not long since given up wearing one.
    â€œI hope that’s not a threat, sir,” he said.
    â€œNo, sir. It’s not.” Young Will looked and sounded wretched, and the phrases of the time when polite talking was as much an art as fencing could not hide his embarrassment.
    â€œI only feel that if you persist in your intention, you’ll get snubbed, sir, and the boy’s life will be a burden to him, and to any other child closely connected with him. I wonder you care to subject my young half-brother here to the ridicule he’d be bound to encounter. You are out of touch, sir. The whole fashionable universe is changing. The mode to-day is to be most nice, most particular. The story has been out once and will be revived. Forgive me, sir, but you know as well as I do that although by no means disgraceful, thirty years ago it would have got the whole family into one duel after another. To-day I assure you it will involve laughter, insults, and a deal of unhappiness for two children in a very fierce school.”
    After this eloquent outburst, which appeared to exhaust him, he settled back in his chair and lowered his eyes.
    â€œJames is my son,” said old Galantry, and the listening James, who was learning fast and hard, was made very proud and pleased in the midst of his misery by the note of dignity and protection. He looked up hopefully.
    â€œLittle Will is
my
son,” said Young Will,