withinfinite
appreciation
,
stroked
his
chin
,
and
,
as
abruptly
,
shot
sideways
into
the
door
again
,
charging
through
it
as
it
were
behind
an
extended
hand
.
"
That
must
be
him
,
"
said
my
mother
,
catching
at
her
breath
.
We
came
past
the
window
whose
contents
I
was
presently
to
know
by
heart
,
a
very
ordinary
chemist
's
window
except
that
there
was
a
frictional
electrical
machine
,
an
air
pump
and
two
or
three
tripods
and
retorts
replacing
the
customary
blue
,
yellow
,
and
red
bottles
above
.
There
was
a
plaster
of
Paris
horse
to
indicate
veterinary
medicines
among
these
breakables
,
and
below
were
scent
packets
and
diffusers
and
sponges
and
soda-water
syphons
and
such-like
things
.
Only
in
the
middle
there
was
a
rubricated
card
,
very
neatly
painted
by
hand
,
with
these
words
—
Buy
Ponderevo
's
Cough
Linctus
NOW
.
NOW
!
WHY
?
Twopence
Cheaper
than
in
Winter
.
You
Store
apples
!
why
not
the
Medicine
You
are
Bound
to
Need
?
in
which
appeal
I
was
to
recognise
presently
my
uncle
's
distinctive
note
.
My
uncle
's
face
appeared
above
a
card
of
infant
's
comforters
in
the
glass
pane
of
the
door
.
I
perceived
his
eyes
were
brown
,
and
that
his
glasses
creased
his
nose
.
It
was
manifest
he
did
not
know
us
from
Adam
.
A
stare
of
scrutiny
allowed
an
expression
of
commercial
deference
to
appear
in
front
of
it
,
and
my
uncle
flung
open
the
door
.
"
You
do
n't
know
me
?
"
panted
my
mother
.
My
uncle
would
not
own
he
did
not
,
but
his
curiosity
was
manifest
.
My
mother
sat
down
on
one
of
the
little
chairs
before
the
soap
and
patent
medicine-piled
counter
,
and
her
lips
opened
and
closed
.
"
A
glass
of
water
,
madam
,
"
said
my
uncle
,
waved
his
hand
in
a
sort
of
curve
and
shot
away
.
My
mother
drank
the
water
and
spoke
.
"
That
boy
,
"
she
said
,
"
takes
after
his
father
.
He
grows
more
like
him
every
day
...
.
And
so
I
have
brought
him
to
you
.
"
"
His
father
,
madam
?
"
"
George
.
"
For
a
moment
the
chemist
was
still
at
a
loss
.
He
stood
behind
the
counter
with
the
glass
my
mother
had
returned
to
him
in
his
hand
.
Then
comprehension
grew
.
"
By
Gosh
!
"
he
said
.
"
Lord
!
"
he
cried
.
His
glasses
fell
off
.
He
disappeared
replacing
them
,
behind
a
pile
of
boxed-up
bottles
of
blood
mixture
.
"
Eleven
thousand
virgins
!
"
I
heard
him
cry
.
The
glass
was
banged
down
.
"
O
—
ri
—
ental
Gums
!
"
He
shot
away
out
of
the
shop
through
some
masked
door
.
One
heard
his
voice
.
"
Susan
!
Susan
!
"
Then
he
reappeared
with
an
extended
hand
.
"
Well
,
how
are
you
?
"
he
said
.
"
I
was
never
so
surprised
in
my
life
.
Fancy
!
...
You
!
"
He
shook
my
mother
's
impassive
hand
and
then
mine
very
warmly
holding
his
glasses
on
with
his
left
forefinger
.
"
Come
right
in
!
"
he
cried
—
"
come
right
in
!
Better
late
than
never
!
"
and
led
the
way
into
the
parlour
behind
the
shop
.
After
Bladesover
that
apartment
struck
me
as
stuffy
and
petty
,
but
it
was
very
comfortable
in
comparison
with
the
Frapp
living-room
.
It
had
a
faint
,
disintegrating
smell
of
meals
about
it
,
and
my
most
immediate
impression
was
of
the
remarkable
fact
that
something
was
hung
about
or
wrapped
round
or
draped
over
everything
.
There
was
bright-patterned
muslin
round
the
gas-bracket
in
the
middle
of
the
room
,
round
the
mirror
over
the
mantel
,
stuff
with
ball-fringe
along
the
mantel
and
casing
in
the
fireplace
,
—
I
first
saw
ball-fringe
here
—
and
even
the
lamp
on
the
little
bureau
wore
a
shade
like
a
large
muslin
hat
.
The
table-cloth
had
ball-fringe
and
so
had
the
window
curtains
,
and
the
carpet
was
a
bed
of
roses
.
There
were
little
cupboards
on
either
side
of
the
fireplace
,
and
in
the
recesses
,
ill-made
shelves
packed
with
books
,
and
enriched
with
pinked
American
cloth
.
There
was
a
dictionary
lying
face
downward
on
the
table
,
and
the
open
bureau
was
littered
with
foolscap
paper
and
the
evidences
of
recently
abandoned
toil
.
My
eye
caught
"
The
Ponderevo
Patent
Flat
,
a
Machine
you
can
Live
in
,
"
written
in
large
firm
letters
.
My
uncle
opened
a
little
door
like
a
cupboard
door
in
the
corner
of
this
room
,
and
revealed
the
narrowest
twist
of
staircase
I
had
ever
set
eyes
upon
.
"
Susan
!
"
he
bawled
again
.
"
Wantje
.
Some
one
to
see
you
.
Surprisin
'
.
"
There
came
an
inaudible
reply
,
and
a
sudden
loud
bump
over
our
heads
as
of
some
article
of
domestic
utility
pettishly
flung
aside
,
then
the
cautious
steps
of
someone
descending
the
twist
,
and
then
my
aunt
appeared
in
the
doorway
with
her
hand
upon
the
jamb
.
"
It
's
Aunt
Ponderevo
,
"
cried
my
uncle
.
"
George
's
wife
—
and
she
's
brought
over
her
son
!
"
His
eye
roamed
about
the
room
.
He
darted
to
the
bureau
with
a
sudden
impulse
,
and
turned
the
sheet
about
the
patent
flat
face
down
.
Then
he
waved
his
glasses
at
us
,
"
You
know
,
Susan
,
my
elder
brother
George
.
I
told
you
about
'
im
lots
of
times
.
"
He
fretted
across
to
the
hearthrug
and
took
up
a
position
there
,
replaced
his
glasses
and
coughed
.
My
aunt
Susan
seemed
to
be
taking
it
in
.
She
was
then
rather
a
pretty
slender
woman
of
twenty-three
or
four
,
I
suppose
,
and
I
remember
being
struck
by
the
blueness
of
her
eyes
and
the
clear
freshness
of
her
complexion
.
She
had
little
features
,
a
button
nose
,
a
pretty
chin
and
a
long
graceful
neck
that
stuck
out
of
her
pale
blue
cotton
morning
dress
.
There
was
a
look
of
half-assumed
perplexity
on
her
face
,
a
little
quizzical
wrinkle
of
the
brow
that
suggested
a
faintly
amused
attempt
to
follow
my
uncle
's
mental
operations
,
a
vain
attempt
and
a
certain
hopelessness
that
had
in
succession
become
habitual
.
She
seemed
to
be
saying
,
"
Oh
Lord
!
What
's
he
giving
me
THIS
time
?
"
And
as
came
to
know
her
better
I
detected
,
as
a
complication
of
her
effort
of
apprehension
,
a
subsidiary
riddle
to
"
What
's
he
giving
me
?
"
and
that
was
—
to
borrow
a
phrase
from
my
schoolboy
language
"
Is
it
keeps
?
"
She
looked
at
my
mother
and
me
,
and
back
to
her
husband
again
.
"
You
know
,
"
he
said
.
"
George
.
"
"
Well
,
"
she
said
to
my
mother
,
descending
the
last
three
steps
of
the
staircase
and
holding
out
her
hand
!
"
you
're
welcome
.
Though
it
's
a
surprise
...
.
I
ca
n't
ask
you
to
HAVE
anything
,
I
'm
afraid
,
for
there
is
n't
anything
in
the
house
.
"
She
smiled
,
and
looked
at
her
husband
banteringly
.
"
Unless
he
makes
up
something
with
his
old
chemicals
,
which
he
's
quite
equal
to
doing
.
"
My
mother
shook
hands
stiffly
,
and
told
me
to
kiss
my
aunt
...
.
"
Well
,
let
's
all
sit
down
,
"
said
my
uncle
,
suddenly
whistling
through
his
clenched
teeth
,
and
briskly
rubbing
his
hands
together
.
He
put
up
a
chair
for
my
mother
,
raised
the
blind
of
the
little
window
,
lowered
it
again
,
and
returned
to
his
hearthrug
.
"
I
'm
sure
,
"
he
said
,
as
one
who
decides
,
"
I
'm
very
glad
to
see
you
.
"
As
they
talked
I
gave
my
attention
pretty
exclusively
to
my
uncle
.
I
noted
him
in
great
detail
.
I
remember
now
his
partially
unbuttoned
waistcoat
,
as
though
something
had
occurred
to
distract
him
as
he
did
it
up
,
and
a
little
cut
upon
his
chin
.
I
liked
a
certain
humour
in
his
eyes
.
I
watched
,
too
,
with
the
fascination
that
things
have
for
an
observant
boy
,
the
play
of
his
lips
—
they
were
a
little
oblique
,
and
there
was
something
"
slipshod
,
"
if
one
may
strain
a
word
so
far
,
about
his
mouth
,
so
that
he
lisped
and
sibilated
ever
and
again
and
the
coming
and
going
of
a
curious
expression
,
triumphant
in
quality
it
was
,
upon
his
face
as
he
talked
.
He
fingered
his
glasses
,
which
did
not
seem
to
fit
his
nose
,
fretted
with
things
in
his
waistcoat
pockets
or
put
his
hands
behind
him
,
looked
over
our
heads
,
and
ever
and
again
rose
to
his
toes
and
dropped
back
on
his
heels
.
He
had
a
way
of
drawing
air
in
at
times
through
his
teeth
that
gave
a
whispering
zest
to
his
speech
It
's
a
sound
I
can
only
represent
as
a
soft
Zzzz
.
He
did
most
of
the
talking
.
My
mother
repeated
what
she
had
already
said
in
the
shop
,
"
I
have
brought
George
over
to
you
,
"
and
then
desisted
for
a
time
from
the
real
business
in
hand
.
"
You
find
this
a
comfortable
house
?
"
she
asked
;
and
this
being
affirmed
:
"
It
looks
—
very
convenient
...
.
Not
too
big
to
be
a
trouble
—
no.
You
like
Wimblehurst
,
I
suppose
?
"
My
uncle
retorted
with
some
inquiries
about
the
great
people
of
Bladesover
,
and
my
mother
answered
in
the
character
of
a
personal
friend
of
Lady
Drew
's
.
The
talk
hung
for
a
time
,
and
then
my
uncle
embarked
upon
a
dissertation
upon
Wimblehurst
.
"
This
place
,
"
he
began
,
"
is
n't
of
course
quite
the
place
I
ought
to
be
in
.
"
My
mother
nodded
as
though
she
had
expected
that
.
"
It
gives
me
no
Scope
,
"
he
went
on
.
"
It
's
dead-and-alive
.
Nothing
happens
.
"
"
He
's
always
wanting
something
to
happen
,
"
said
my
aunt
Susan
.
"
Some
day
he
'll
get
a
shower
of
things
and
they
'll
be
too
much
for
him
.
"
"
Not
they
,
"
said
my
uncle
,
buoyantly
.
"
Do
you
find
business
—
slack
?
"
asked
my
mother
.
"
Oh
!
one
rubs
along
.
But
there
's
no
Development
—
no
growth
.
They
just
come
along
here
and
buy
pills
when
they
want
'
em
—
and
a
horseball
or
such
.
They
've
got
to
be
ill
before
there
's
a
prescription
.
That
sort
they
are
.
You
ca
n't
get
'
em
to
launch
out
,
you
ca
n't
get
'
em
to
take
up
anything
new
.
For
instance
,
I
've
been
trying
lately
—
induce
them
to
buy
their
medicines
in
advance
,
and
in
larger
quantities
.
But
they
wo
n't
look
for
it
!
Then
I
tried
to
float
a
little
notion
of
mine
,
sort
of
an
insurance
scheme
for
colds
;
you
pay
so
much
a
week
,
and
when
you
've
got
a
cold
you
get
a
bottle
of
Cough
Linctus
so
long
as
you
can
produce
a
substantial
sniff
.
See
?
But
Lord
!
they
've
no
capacity
for
ideas
,
they
do
n't
catch
on
;
no
Jump
about
the
place
,
no
Life
.
Live
!
—
they
trickle
,
and
what
one
has
to
do
here
is
to
trickle
too
—
Zzzz
.
"
"
Ah
!
"
said
my
mother
.
"
It
does
n't
suit
me
,
"
said
my
uncle
.
"
I
'm
the
cascading
sort
.
"
"
George
was
that
,
"
said
my
mother
after
a
pondering
moment
.
My
aunt
Susan
took
up
the
parable
with
an
affectionate
glance
at
her
husband
.
"
He
's
always
trying
to
make
his
old
business
jump
,
"
she
said
.
"
Always
putting
fresh
cards
in
the
window
,
or
getting
up
to
something
.
You
'd
hardly
believe
.
It
makes
ME
jump
sometimes
.
"
"
But
it
does
no
good
,
"
said
my
uncle
.
"
It
does
no
good
,
"
said
his
wife
.
"
It
's
not
his
miloo
...
"
Presently
they
came
upon
a
wide
pause
.
From
the
beginning
of
their
conversation
there
had
been
the
promise
of
this
pause
,
and
I
pricked
my
ears
.
I
knew
perfectly
what
was
bound
to
come
;
they
were
going
to
talk
of
my
father
.
I
was
enormously
strengthened
in
my
persuasion
when
I
found
my
mother
's
eyes
resting
thoughtfully
upon
me
in
the
silence
,
and
than
my
uncle
looked
at
me
and
then
my
aunt
.
I
struggled
unavailingly
to
produce
an
expression
of
meek
stupidity
.
"
I
think
,
"
said
my
uncle
,
"
that
George
will
find
it
more
amusing
to
have
a
turn
in
the
market-place
than
to
sit
here
talking
with
us
.
There
's
a
pair
of
stocks
there
,
George
—
very
interesting
.
Old-fashioned
stocks
.
"
"
I
do
n't
mind
sitting
here
,
"
I
said
.
My
uncle
rose
and
in
the
most
friendly
way
led
me
through
the
shop
.
He
stood
on
his
doorstep
and
jerked
amiable
directions
to
me
.
"
Ai
n't
it
sleepy
,
George
,
eh
?
There
's
the
butcher
's
dog
over
there
,
asleep
in
the
road
—
half
an
hour
from
midday
!
If
the
last
Trump
sounded
I
do
n't
believe
it
would
wake
.
Nobody
would
wake
!
The
chaps
up
there
in
the
churchyard
—
they
'd
just
turn
over
and
say
:
'
Naar
—
you
do
n't
catch
us
,
you
do
n't
!
See
?
'
...
.
Well
,
you
'll
find
the
stocks
just
round
that
corner
.
"
He
watched
me
out
of
sight
.
So
I
never
heard
what
they
said
about
my
father
after
all
.
When
I
returned
,
my
uncle
had
in
some
remarkable
way
become
larger
and
central
.
"
Tha'chu
,
George
?
"
he
cried
,
when
the
shop-door
bell
sounded
.
"
Come
right
through
"
;
and
I
found
him
,
as
it
were
,
in
the
chairman
's
place
before
the
draped
grate
.
The
three
of
them
regarded
me
.
"
We
have
been
talking
of
making
you
a
chemist
,
George
,
"
said
my
uncle
.
My
mother
looked
at
me
.
"
I
had
hoped
,
"
she
said
,
"
that
Lady
Drew
would
have
done
something
for
him
—
"
She
stopped
.
"
In
what
way
?
"
said
my
uncle
.
"
She
might
have
spoken
to
some
one
,
got
him
into
something
perhaps
...
.
"
She
had
the
servant
's
invincible
persuasion
that
all
good
things
are
done
by
patronage
.
"
He
is
not
the
sort
of
boy
for
whom
things
are
done
,
"
she
added
,
dismissing
these
dreams
.
"
He
does
n't
accommodate
himself
.
When
he
thinks
Lady
Drew
wishes
a
thing
,
he
seems
not
to
wish
it
.
Towards
Mr.
Redgrave
,
too
,
he
has
been
—
disrespectful
—
he
is
like
his
father
.
"
"
Who
's
Mr.
Redgrave
?
"
"
The
Vicar
.
"
"
A
bit
independent
?
"
said
my
uncle
,
briskly
.
"
Disobedient
,
"
said
my
mother
.
"
He
has
no
idea
of
his
place
.
He
seems
to
think
he
can
get
on
by
slighting
people
and
flouting
them
.
He
'll
learn
perhaps
before
it
is
too
late
.
"
My
uncle
stroked
his
cut
chin
and
me
.
"
Have
you
learnt
any
Latin
?
"
he
asked
abruptly
.
I
said
I
had
not
.
"
He
'll
have
to
learn
a
little
Latin
,
"
he
explained
to
my
mother
,
"
to
qualify
.
H
'm
.
He
could
go
down
to
the
chap
at
the
grammar
school
here
—
it
's
just
been
routed
into
existence
again
by
the
Charity
Commissioners
and
have
lessons
.
"
"
What
,
me
learn
Latin
!
"
I
cried
,
with
emotion
.
"
A
little
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
've
always
wanted
"
I
said
and
;
"
LATIN
!
"
I
had
long
been
obsessed
by
the
idea
that
having
no
Latin
was
a
disadvantage
in
the
world
,
and
Archie
Garvell
had
driven
the
point
of
this
pretty
earnestly
home
.
The
literature
I
had
read
at
Bladesover
had
all
tended
that
way
.
Latin
had
had
a
quality
of
emancipation
for
me
that
I
find
it
difficult
to
convey
.
And
suddenly
,
when
I
had
supposed
all
learning
was
at
an
end
for
me
,
I
heard
this
!
"
It
's
no
good
to
you
,
of
course
,
"
said
my
uncle
,
"
except
to
pass
exams
with
,
but
there
you
are
!
"
"
You
'll
have
to
learn
Latin
because
you
have
to
learn
Latin
,
"
said
my
mother
,
"
not
because
you
want
to
.
And
afterwards
you
will
have
to
learn
all
sorts
of
other
things
...
.
"
The
idea
that
I
was
to
go
on
learning
,
that
to
read
and
master
the
contents
of
books
was
still
to
be
justifiable
as
a
duty
,
overwhelmed
all
other
facts
.
I
had
had
it
rather
clear
in
my
mind
for
some
weeks
that
all
that
kind
of
opportunity
might
close
to
me
for
ever
.
I
began
to
take
a
lively
interest
in
this
new
project
.
"
Then
shall
I
live
here
?
"
I
asked
,
"
with
you
,
and
study
...
as
well
as
work
in
the
shop
?
"
"
That
's
the
way
of
it
,
"
said
my
uncle
.
I
parted
from
my
mother
that
day
in
a
dream
,
so
sudden
and
important
was
this
new
aspect
of
things
to
me
.
I
was
to
learn
Latin
!
Now
that
the
humiliation
of
my
failure
at
Bladesover
was
past
for
her
,
now
that
she
had
a
little
got
over
her
first
intense
repugnance
at
this
resort
to
my
uncle
and
contrived
something
that
seemed
like
a
possible
provision
for
my
future
,
the
tenderness
natural
to
a
parting
far
more
significant
than
any
of
our
previous
partings
crept
into
her
manner
.
She
sat
in
the
train
to
return
,
I
remember
,
and
I
stood
at
the
open
door
of
her
compartment
,
and
neither
of
us
knew
how
soon
we
should
cease
for
ever
to
be
a
trouble
to
one
another
.
"
You
must
be
a
good
boy
,
George
,
"
she
said
.
"
You
must
learn
...
.
And
you
must
n't
set
yourself
up
against
those
who
are
above
you
and
better
than
you
...
.
Or
envy
them
.
"
"
No
,
mother
,
"
I
said
.
I
promised
carelessly
.
Her
eyes
were
fixed
upon
me
.
I
was
wondering
whether
I
could
by
any
means
begin
Latin
that
night
.
Something
touched
her
heart
then
,
some
thought
,
some
memory
;
perhaps
some
premonition
...
.
The
solitary
porter
began
slamming
carriage
doors
.
"
George
"
she
said
hastily
,
almost
shamefully
,
"
kiss
me
!
"
I
stepped
up
into
her
compartment
as
she
bent
downward
.
She
caught
me
in
her
arms
quite
eagerly
,
she
pressed
me
to
her
—
a
strange
thing
for
her
to
do
.
I
perceived
her
eyes
were
extraordinarily
bright
,
and
then
this
brightness
burst
along
the
lower
lids
and
rolled
down
her
cheeks
.
For
the
first
and
last
time
in
my
life
I
saw
my
mother
's
tears
.
Then
she
had
gone
,
leaving
me
discomforted
and
perplexed
,
forgetting
for
a
time
even
that
I
was
to
learn
Latin
,
thinking
of
my
mother
as
of
something
new
and
strange
.
The
thing
recurred
though
I
sought
to
dismiss
it
,
it
stuck
itself
into
my
memory
against
the
day
of
fuller
understanding
.
Poor
,
proud
,
habitual
,
sternly
narrow
soul
!
poor
difficult
and
misunderstanding
son
!
it
was
the
first
time
that
ever
it
dawned
upon
me
that
my
mother
also
might
perhaps
feel
.
My
mother
died
suddenly
and
,
it
was
thought
by
Lady
Drew
,
inconsiderately
,
the
following
spring
.
Her
ladyship
instantly
fled
to
Folkestone
with
Miss
Somerville
and
Fison
,
until
the
funeral
should
be
over
and
my
mother
's
successor
installed
.
My
uncle
took
me
over
to
the
funeral
.
I
remember
there
was
a
sort
of
prolonged
crisis
in
the
days
preceding
this
because
,
directly
he
heard
of
my
loss
,
he
had
sent
a
pair
of
check
trousers
to
the
Judkins
people
in
London
to
be
dyed
black
,
and
they
did
not
come
back
in
time
.
He
became
very
excited
on
the
third
day
,
and
sent
a
number
of
increasingly
fiery
telegrams
without
any
result
whatever
,
and
succumbed
next
morning
with
a
very
ill
grace
to
my
aunt
Susan
's
insistence
upon
the
resources
of
his
dress-suit
.
In
my
memory
those
black
legs
of
his
,
in
a
particularly
thin
and
shiny
black
cloth
—
for
evidently
his
dress-suit
dated
from
adolescent
and
slenderer
days
—
straddle
like
the
Colossus
of
Rhodes
over
my
approach
to
my
mother
's
funeral
.
Moreover
,
I
was
inconvenienced
and
distracted
by
a
silk
hat
he
had
bought
me
,
my
first
silk
hat
,
much
ennobled
,
as
his
was
also
,
by
a
deep
mourning
band
.
I
remember
,
but
rather
indistinctly
,
my
mother
's
white
paneled
housekeeper
's
room
and
the
touch
of
oddness
about
it
that
she
was
not
there
,
and
the
various
familiar
faces
made
strange
by
black
,
and
I
seem
to
recall
the
exaggerated
self-consciousness
that
arose
out
of
their
focussed
attention
.
No
doubt
the
sense
of
the
new
silk
hat
came
and
went
and
came
again
in
my
emotional
chaos
.
Then
something
comes
out
clear
and
sorrowful
,
rises
out
clear
and
sheer
from
among
all
these
rather
base
and
inconsequent
things
,
and
once
again
I
walk
before
all
the
other
mourners
close
behind
her
coffin
as
it
is
carried
along
the
churchyard
path
to
her
grave
,
with
the
old
vicar
's
slow
voice
saying
regretfully
and
unconvincingly
above
me
,
triumphant
solemn
things
.
"
I
am
the
resurrection
and
the
life
,
saith
the
Lord
;
he
that
believeth
in
me
,
though
he
were
dead
,
yet
shall
he
live
:
and
whosoever
liveth
and
believeth
in
me
shall
never
die
.
"
Never
die
!
The
day
was
a
high
and
glorious
morning
in
spring
,
and
all
the
trees
were
budding
and
bursting
into
green
.
Everywhere
there
were
blossoms
and
flowers
;
the
pear
trees
and
cherry
trees
in
the
sexton
's
garden
were
sunlit
snow
,
there
were
nodding
daffodils
and
early
tulips
in
the
graveyard
beds
,
great
multitudes
of
daisies
,
and
everywhere
the
birds
seemed
singing
.
And
in
the
middle
was
the
brown
coffin
end
,
tilting
on
men
's
shoulders
and
half
occluded
by
the
vicar
's
Oxford
hood
.
And
so
we
came
to
my
mother
's
waiting
grave
.
For
a
time
I
was
very
observant
,
watching
the
coffin
lowered
,
hearing
the
words
of
the
ritual
.
It
seemed
a
very
curious
business
altogether
.
Suddenly
as
the
service
drew
to
its
end
,
I
felt
something
had
still
to
be
said
which
had
not
been
said
,
realised
that
she
had
withdrawn
in
silence
,
neither
forgiving
me
nor
hearing
from
me
—
those
now
lost
assurances
.
Suddenly
I
knew
I
had
not
understood
.
Suddenly
I
saw
her
tenderly
;
remembered
not
so
much
tender
or
kindly
things
of
her
as
her
crossed
wishes
and
the
ways
in
which
I
had
thwarted
her
.
Surprisingly
I
realised
that
behind
all
her
hardness
and
severity
she
had
loved
me
,
that
I
was
the
only
thing
she
had
ever
loved
and
that
until
this
moment
I
had
never
loved
her
.
And
now
she
was
there
and
deaf
and
blind
to
me
,
pitifully
defeated
in
her
designs
for
me
,
covered
from
me
so
that
she
could
not
know
...
.
I
dug
my
nails
into
the
palms
of
my
hands
,
I
set
my
teeth
,
but
tears
blinded
me
,
sobs
would
have
choked
me
had
speech
been
required
of
me
.
The
old
vicar
read
on
,
there
came
a
mumbled
response
—
and
so
on
to
the
end
.
I
wept
as
it
were
internally
,
and
only
when
we
had
come
out
of
the
churchyard
could
I
think
and
speak
calmly
again
.
Stamped
across
this
memory
are
the
little
black
figures
of
my
uncle
and
Rabbits
,
telling
Avebury
,
the
sexton
and
undertaker
,
that
"
it
had
all
passed
off
very
well
—
very
well
indeed
.
"
That
is
the
last
I
shall
tell
of
Bladesover
.
The
dropscene
falls
on
that
,
and
it
comes
no
more
as
an
actual
presence
into
this
novel
.
I
did
indeed
go
back
there
once
again
,
but
under
circumstances
quite
immaterial
to
my
story
.
But
in
a
sense
Bladesover
has
never
left
me
;
it
is
,
as
I
said
at
the
outset
,
one
of
those
dominant
explanatory
impressions
that
make
the
framework
of
my
mind
.
Bladesover
illuminates
England
;
it
has
become
all
that
is
spacious
,
dignified
pretentious
,
and
truly
conservative
in
English
life
.
It
is
my
social
datum
.
That
is
why
I
have
drawn
it
here
on
so
large
a
scale
.
When
I
came
back
at
last
to
the
real
Bladesover
on
an
inconsequent
visit
,
everything
was
far
smaller
than
I
could
have
supposed
possible
.
It
was
as
though
everything
had
shivered
and
shrivelled
a
little
at
the
Lichtenstein
touch
.
The
harp
was
still
in
the
saloon
,
but
there
was
a
different
grand
piano
with
a
painted
lid
and
a
metrostyle
pianola
,
and
an
extraordinary
quantity
of
artistic
litter
and
bric-a-brac
scattered
about
.
There
was
the
trail
of
the
Bond
Street
showroom
over
it
all
.
The
furniture
was
still
under
chintz
,
but
it
was
n't
the
same
sort
of
chintz
although
it
pretended
to
be
,
and
the
lustre-dangling
chandeliers
had
passed
away
.
Lady
Lichtenstein
's
books
replaced
the
brown
volumes
I
had
browsed
among
—
they
were
mostly
presentation
copies
of
contemporary
novels
and
the
National
Review
and
the
Empire
Review
,
and
the
Nineteenth
Century
and
after
jostled
current
books
on
the
tables
—
English
new
books
in
gaudy
catchpenny
"
artistic
"
covers
,
French
and
Italian
novels
in
yellow
,
German
art
handbooks
of
almost
incredible
ugliness
.
There
were
abundant
evidences
that
her
ladyship
was
playing
with
the
Keltic
renascence
,
and
a
great
number
of
ugly
cats
made
of
china
—
she
"
collected
"
china
and
stoneware
cats
—
stood
about
everywhere
—
in
all
colours
,
in
all
kinds
of
deliberately
comic
,
highly
glazed
distortion
.
It
is
nonsense
to
pretend
that
finance
makes
any
better
aristocrats
than
rent
.
Nothing
can
make
an
aristocrat
but
pride
,
knowledge
,
training
,
and
the
sword
.
These
people
were
no
improvement
on
the
Drews
,
none
whatever
.
There
was
no
effect
of
a
beneficial
replacement
of
passive
unintelligent
people
by
active
intelligent
ones
.
One
felt
that
a
smaller
but
more
enterprising
and
intensely
undignified
variety
of
stupidity
had
replaced
the
large
dullness
of
the
old
gentry
,
and
that
was
all
.
Bladesover
,
I
thought
,
had
undergone
just
the
same
change
between
the
seventies
and
the
new
century
that
had
overtaken
the
dear
old
Times
,
and
heaven
knows
how
much
more
of
the
decorous
British
fabric
.
These
Lichtensteins
and
their
like
seem
to
have
no
promise
in
them
at
all
of
any
fresh
vitality
for
the
kingdom
.
I
do
not
believe
in
their
intelligence
or
their
power
—
they
have
nothing
new
about
them
at
all
,
nothing
creative
nor
rejuvenescent
,
no
more
than
a
disorderly
instinct
of
acquisition
;
and
the
prevalence
of
them
and
their
kind
is
but
a
phase
in
the
broad
slow
decay
of
the
great
social
organism
of
England
.
They
could
not
have
made
Bladesover
they
cannot
replace
it
;
they
just
happen
to
break
out
over
it
—
saprophytically
.
Well
—
that
was
my
last
impression
of
Bladesover
.
CHAPTER
THE
THIRD
THE
WIMBLEHURST
APPRENTICESHIP
So
far
as
I
can
remember
now
,
except
for
that
one
emotional
phase
by
the
graveside
,
I
passed
through
all
these
experiences
rather
callously
.
I
had
already
,
with
the
facility
of
youth
,
changed
my
world
,
ceased
to
think
at
all
of
the
old
school
routine
and
put
Bladesover
aside
for
digestion
at
a
latter
stage
.
I
took
up
my
new
world
in
Wimblehurst
with
the
chemist
's
shop
as
its
hub
,
set
to
work
at
Latin
and
materia
medica
,
and
concentrated
upon
the
present
with
all
my
heart
.
Wimblehurst
is
an
exceptionally
quiet
and
grey
Sussex
town
rare
among
south
of
England
towns
in
being
largely
built
of
stone
.
I
found
something
very
agreeable
and
picturesque
in
its
clean
cobbled
streets
,
its
odd
turnings
and
abrupt
corners
;
and
in
the
pleasant
park
that
crowds
up
one
side
of
the
town
.
The
whole
place
is
under
the
Eastry
dominion
and
it
was
the
Eastry
influence
and
dignity
that
kept
its
railway
station
a
mile
and
three-quarters
away
.
Eastry
House
is
so
close
that
it
dominates
the
whole
;
one
goes
across
the
marketplace
(
with
its
old
lock-up
and
stocks
)
,
past
the
great
pre-reformation
church
,
a
fine
grey
shell
,
like
some
empty
skull
from
which
the
life
has
fled
,
and
there
at
once
are
the
huge
wrought-iron
gates
,
and
one
peeps
through
them
to
see
the
facade
of
this
place
,
very
white
and
large
and
fine
,
down
a
long
avenue
of
yews
.
Eastry
was
far
greater
than
Bladesover
and
an
altogether
completer
example
of
the
eighteenth
century
system
.
It
ruled
not
two
villages
,
but
a
borough
,
that
had
sent
its
sons
and
cousins
to
parliament
almost
as
a
matter
of
right
so
long
as
its
franchise
endured
.
Every
one
was
in
the
system
,
every
one-except
my
uncle
.
He
stood
out
and
complained
.
My
uncle
was
the
first
real
breach
I
found
in
the
great
front
of
Bladesover
the
world
had
presented
me
,
for
Chatham
was
not
so
much
a
breach
as
a
confirmation
.
But
my
uncle
had
no
respect
for
Bladesover
and
Eastry-none
whatever
.
He
did
not
believe
in
them
.
He
was
blind
even
to
what
they
were
.
He
propounded
strange
phrases
about
them
,
he
exfoliated
and
wagged
about
novel
and
incredible
ideas
.
"
This
place
,
"
said
my
uncle
,
surveying
it
from
his
open
doorway
in
the
dignified
stillness
of
a
summer
afternoon
,
"
wants
Waking
Up
!
"
I
was
sorting
up
patent
medicines
in
the
corner
.
"
I
'd
like
to
let
a
dozen
young
Americans
loose
into
it
,
"
said
my
uncle
.
"
Then
we
'd
see
.
"
I
made
a
tick
against
Mother
Shipton
's
Sleeping
Syrup
.
We
had
cleared
our
forward
stock
.
"
Things
must
be
happening
SOMEWHERE
,
George
,
"
he
broke
out
in
a
querulously
rising
note
as
he
came
back
into
the
little
shop
.
He
fiddled
with
the
piled
dummy
boxes
of
fancy
soap
and
scent
and
so
forth
that
adorned
the
end
of
the
counter
,
then
turned
about
petulantly
,
stuck
his
hands
deeply
into
his
pockets
and
withdrew
one
to
scratch
his
head
.
"
I
must
do
SOMETHING
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
ca
n't
stand
it
.
"
I
must
invent
something
.
And
shove
it
...
.
I
could
.
"
Or
a
play
.
There
's
a
deal
of
money
in
a
play
,
George
.
What
would
you
think
of
me
writing
a
play
eh
?
...
There
's
all
sorts
of
things
to
be
done
.
"
Or
the
stog-igschange
.
"
He
fell
into
that
meditative
whistling
of
his
.
"
Sac-ramental
wine
!
"
he
swore
,
"
this
is
n't
the
world-it
's
Cold
Mutton
Fat
!
That
's
what
Wimblehurst
is
!
Cold
Mutton
Fat
!
-dead
and
stiff
!
And
I
'm
buried
in
it
up
to
the
arm
pits
.
Nothing
ever
happens
,
nobody
wants
things
to
happen
'
scept
me
!
Up
in
London
,
George
,
things
happen
.
America
!
I
wish
to
Heaven
,
George
,
I
'd
been
born
American-where
things
hum
.
"
What
can
one
do
here
?
How
can
one
grow
?
While
we
're
sleepin
'
here
with
our
Capital
oozing
away
into
Lord
Eastry
's
pockets
for
rent-men
are
up
there
...
.
"
He
indicated
London
as
remotely
over
the
top
of
the
dispensing
counter
,
and
then
as
a
scene
of
great
activity
by
a
whirl
of
the
hand
and
a
wink
and
a
meaning
smile
at
me
.
"
What
sort
of
things
do
they
do
?
"
I
asked
.
"
Rush
about
,
"
he
said
.
"
Do
things
!
Somethin
'
glorious
.
There
's
cover
gambling
.
Ever
heard
of
that
,
George
?
"
He
drew
the
air
in
through
his
teeth
.
"
You
put
down
a
hundred
say
,
and
buy
ten
thousand
pounds
worth
.
See
?
That
's
a
cover
of
one
per
cent
.
Things
go
up
one
,
you
sell
,
realise
cent
per
cent
;
down
,
whiff
,
it
's
gone
!
Try
again
!
Cent
per
cent
,
George
,
every
day
.
Men
are
made
or
done
for
in
an
hour
.
And
the
shoutin
'
!
Zzzz
...
.
Well
,
that
's
one
way
,
George
.
Then
another
way-there
's
Corners
!
"
"
They
're
rather
big
things
,
are
n't
they
?
"
I
ventured
.
"
Oh
,
if
you
go
in
for
wheat
or
steel-yes
.
But
suppose
you
tackled
a
little
thing
,
George
.
Just
some
little
thing
that
only
needed
a
few
thousands
.
Drugs
for
example
.
Shoved
all
you
had
into
it-staked
your
liver
on
it
,
so
to
speak
.
Take
a
drug-take
ipecac
,
for
example
.
Take
a
lot
of
ipecac
.
Take
all
there
is
!
See
?
There
you
are
!
There
are
n't
unlimited
supplies
of
ipecacuanha-ca
n't
be
!
-and
it
's
a
thing
people
must
have
.
Then
quinine
again
!
You
watch
your
chance
,
wait
for
a
tropical
war
breaking
out
,
let
's
say
,
and
collar
all
the
quinine
.
Where
ARE
they
?
Must
have
quinine
,
you
know
.
Eh
?
Zzzz
.
"
Lord
!
there
's
no
end
of
things-no
end
of
little
things
.
Dill-water-all
the
suffering
babes
yowling
for
it
.
Eucalyptus
again-cascara-witch
hazel-menthol-all
the
toothache
things
.
Then
there
's
antiseptics
,
and
curare
,
cocaine
...
.
"
"
Rather
a
nuisance
to
the
doctors
,
"
I
reflected
.
"
They
got
to
look
out
for
themselves
.
By
Jove
,
yes
.
They
'll
do
you
if
they
can
,
and
you
do
them
.
Like
brigands
.
That
makes
it
romantic
.
That
's
the
Romance
of
Commerce
,
George
.
You
're
in
the
mountains
there
!
Think
of
having
all
the
quinine
in
the
world
,
and
some
millionaire
's
pampered
wife
gone
ill
with
malaria
,
eh
?
That
's
a
squeeze
,
George
,
eh
?
Eh
?
Millionaire
on
his
motor
car
outside
,
offering
you
any
price
you
liked
.
That
'
ud
wake
up
Wimblehurst
...
.
Lord
!
You
have
n't
an
Idea
down
here
.
Not
an
idea
.
Zzzz
.
"
He
passed
into
a
rapt
dream
,
from
which
escaped
such
fragments
as
:
"
Fifty
per
cent
.
advance
sir
;
security-to-morrow
.
Zzzz
.
"
The
idea
of
cornering
a
drug
struck
upon
my
mind
then
as
a
sort
of
irresponsible
monkey
trick
that
no
one
would
ever
be
permitted
to
do
in
reality
.
It
was
the
sort
of
nonsense
one
would
talk
to
make
Ewart
laugh
and
set
him
going
on
to
still
odder
possibilities
.
I
thought
it
was
part
of
my
uncle
's
way
of
talking
.
But
I
've
learnt
differently
since
.
The
whole
trend
of
modern
money-making
is
to
foresee
something
that
will
presently
be
needed
and
put
it
out
of
reach
,
and
then
to
haggle
yourself
wealthy
.
You
buy
up
land
upon
which
people
will
presently
want
to
build
houses
,
you
secure
rights
that
will
bar
vitally
important
developments
,
and
so
on
,
and
so
on
.
Of
course
the
naive
intelligence
of
a
boy
does
not
grasp
the
subtler
developments
of
human
inadequacy
.
He
begins
life
with
a
disposition
to
believe
in
the
wisdom
of
grown-up
people
,
he
does
not
realise
how
casual
and
disingenuous
has
been
the
development
of
law
and
custom
,
and
he
thinks
that
somewhere
in
the
state
there
is
a
power
as
irresistible
as
a
head
master
's
to
check
mischievous
and
foolish
enterprises
of
every
sort
.
I
will
confess
that
when
my
uncle
talked
of
cornering
quinine
,
I
had
a
clear
impression
that
any
one
who
contrived
to
do
that
would
pretty
certainly
go
to
jail
.
Now
I
know
that
any
one
who
could
really
bring
it
off
would
be
much
more
likely
to
go
to
the
House
of
Lords
!
My
uncle
ranged
over
the
gilt
labels
of
his
bottles
and
drawers
for
a
while
,
dreaming
of
corners
in
this
and
that
.
But
at
last
he
reverted
to
Wimblehurst
again
.
"
You
got
to
be
in
London
when
these
things
are
in
hand
.
Down
here-
!
"
Jee-rusalem
!
"
he
cried
.
"
Why
did
I
plant
myself
here
?
Everything
's
done
.
The
game
's
over
.
Here
's
Lord
Eastry
,
and
he
's
got
everything
,
except
what
his
lawyers
get
,
and
before
you
get
any
more
change
this
way
you
'll
have
to
dynamite
him-and
them
.
HE
does
n't
want
anything
more
to
happen
.
Why
should
he
?
Any
chance
'
ud
be
a
loss
to
him
.
He
wants
everything
to
burble
along
and
burble
along
and
go
on
as
it
's
going
for
the
next
ten
thousand
years
,
Eastry
after
Eastry
,
one
parson
down
another
come
,
one
grocer
dead
,
get
another
!
Any
one
with
any
ideas
better
go
away
.
They
HAVE
gone
away
!
Look
at
all
these
blessed
people
in
this
place
!
Look
at
'
em
!
All
fast
asleep
,
doing
their
business
out
of
habit-in
a
sort
of
dream
,
Stuffed
men
would
do
just
as
well-just
.
They
've
all
shook
down
into
their
places
.
THEY
do
n't
want
anything
to
happen
either
.
They
're
all
broken
in
.
There
you
are
!
Only
what
are
they
all
alive
for
?
...
"
Why
ca
n't
they
get
a
clockwork
chemist
?
"
He
concluded
as
he
often
concluded
these
talks
.
"
I
must
invent
something
,
-that
's
about
what
I
must
do
.
Zzzz
.
Some
convenience
.
Something
people
want
...
.
Strike
out
...
.
You
ca
n't
think
,
George
,
of
anything
everybody
wants
and
has
n't
got
?
I
mean
something
you
could
turn
out
retail
under
a
shilling
,
say
?
Well
,
YOU
think
,
whenever
you
have
n't
got
anything
better
to
do
.
See
?
"
So
I
remember
my
uncle
in
that
first
phase
,
young
,
but
already
a
little
fat
,
restless
,
fretful
,
garrulous
,
putting
in
my
fermenting
head
all
sorts
of
discrepant
ideas
.
Certainly
he
was
educational
...
.
For
me
the
years
at
Wimblehurst
were
years
of
pretty
active
growth
.
Most
of
my
leisure
and
much
of
my
time
in
the
shop
I
spent
in
study
.
I
speedily
mastered
the
modicum
of
Latin
necessary
for
my
qualifying
examinations
,
and-a
little
assisted
by
the
Government
Science
and
Art
Department
classes
that
were
held
in
the
Grammar
School-went
on
with
my
mathematics
.
There
were
classes
in
physics
,
in
chemistry
,
in
mathematics
and
machine
drawing
,
and
I
took
up
these
subjects
with
considerable
avidity
.
Exercise
I
got
chiefly
in
the
form
of
walks
.
There
was
some
cricket
in
the
summer
and
football
in
the
winter
sustained
by
young
men
's
clubs
that
levied
a
parasitic
blackmail
of
the
big
people
and
the
sitting
member
,
but
I
was
never
very
keen
at
these
games
.
I
did
n't
find
any
very
close
companions
among
the
youths
of
Wimblehurst
.
They
struck
me
,
after
my
cockney
schoolmates
,
as
loutish
and
slow
,
servile
and
furtive
,
spiteful
and
mean
.
WE
used
to
swagger
,
but
these
countrymen
dragged
their
feet
and
hated
an
equal
who
did
n't
;
we
talked
loud
,
but
you
only
got
the
real
thoughts
of
Wimblehurst
in
a
knowing
undertone
behind
its
hand
.
And
even
then
they
were
n't
much
in
the
way
of
thoughts
.
No
,
I
did
n't
like
those
young
countrymen
,
and
I
'm
no
believer
in
the
English
countryside
under
the
Bladesover
system
as
a
breeding
ground
for
honourable
men
.
One
hears
a
frightful
lot
of
nonsense
about
the
Rural
Exodus
and
the
degeneration
wrought
by
town
life
upon
our
population
.
To
my
mind
,
the
English
townsman
,
even
in
the
slums
,
is
infinitely
better
spiritually
,
more
courageous
,
more
imaginative
and
cleaner
,
than
his
agricultural
cousin
.
I
've
seen
them
both
when
they
did
n't
think
they
were
being
observed
,
and
I
know
.
There
was
something
about
my
Wimblehurst
companions
that
disgusted
me
.
It
's
hard
to
define
.
Heaven
knows
that
at
that
cockney
boarding-school
at
Goudhurst
we
were
coarse
enough
;
the
Wimblehurst
youngsters
had
neither
words
nor
courage
for
the
sort
of
thing
we
used
to
do-for
our
bad
language
,
for
example
;
but
,
on
the
other
hand
,
they
displayed
a
sort
of
sluggish
,
real
lewdness
,
lewdness
is
the
word-a
baseness
of
attitude
.
Whatever
we
exiled
urbans
did
at
Goudhurst
was
touched
with
something
,
however
coarse
,
of
romantic
imagination
.
We
had
read
the
Boys
of
England
,
and
told
each
other
stories
.
In
the
English
countryside
there
are
no
books
at
all
,
no
songs
,
no
drama
,
no
valiant
sin
even
;
all
these
things
have
never
come
or
they
were
taken
away
and
hidden
generations
ago
,
and
the
imagination
aborts
and
bestialises
.
That
,
I
think
,
is
where
the
real
difference
against
the
English
rural
man
lies
.
It
is
because
I
know
this
that
I
do
not
share
in
the
common
repinings
because
our
countryside
is
being
depopulated
,
because
our
population
is
passing
through
the
furnace
of
the
towns
.
They
starve
,
they
suffer
,
no
doubt
,
but
they
come
out
of
it
hardened
,
they
come
out
of
it
with
souls
.
Of
an
evening
the
Wimblehurst
blade
,
shiny-faced
from
a
wash
and
with
some
loud
finery
,
a
coloured
waistcoat
or
a
vivid
tie
,
would
betake
himself
to
the
Eastry
Arms
billiard-room
,
or
to
the
bar
parlour
of
some
minor
pub
where
nap
could
be
played
.
One
soon
sickened
of
his
slow
knowingness
,
the
cunning
observation
of
his
deadened
eyes
,
his
idea
of
a
"
good
story
,
"
always
,
always
told
in
undertones
,
poor
dirty
worm
!
his
shrewd
,
elaborate
maneuvers
for
some
petty
advantage
,
a
drink
to
the
good
or
such-like
deal
.
There
rises
before
my
eyes
as
I
write
,
young
Hopley
Dodd
,
the
son
of
the
Wimblehurst
auctioneer
,
the
pride
of
Wimblehurst
,
its
finest
flower
,
with
his
fur
waistcoat
and
his
bulldog
pipe
,
his
riding
breeches-he
had
no
horse-and
his
gaiters
,
as
he
used
to
sit
,
leaning
forward
and
watching
the
billiard-table
from
under
the
brim
of
his
artfully
tilted
hat
.
A
half-dozen
phrases
constituted
his
conversation
:
"
hard
lines
!
"
he
used
to
say
,
and
"
Good
baazness
,
"
in
a
bass
bleat
.
Moreover
,
he
had
a
long
slow
whistle
that
was
esteemed
the
very
cream
of
humorous
comment
.
Night
after
night
he
was
there
.
Also
you
knew
he
would
not
understand
that
I
could
play
billiards
,
and
regarded
every
stroke
I
made
as
a
fluke
.
For
a
beginner
I
did
n't
play
so
badly
,
I
thought
.
I
'm
not
so
sure
now
;
that
was
my
opinion
at
the
time
.
But
young
Dodd
's
scepticism
and
the
"
good
baazness
"
finally
cured
me
of
my
disposition
to
frequent
the
Eastry
Arms
,
and
so
these
noises
had
their
value
in
my
world
.
I
made
no
friends
among
the
young
men
of
the
place
at
all
,
and
though
I
was
entering
upon
adolescence
I
have
no
love-affair
to
tell
of
here
.
Not
that
I
was
not
waking
up
to
that
aspect
of
life
in
my
middle
teens
I
did
,
indeed
,
in
various
slightly
informal
ways
scrape
acquaintance
with
casual
Wimblehurst
girls
;
with
a
little
dressmaker
's
apprentice
I
got
upon
shyly
speaking
terms
,
and
a
pupil
teacher
in
the
National
School
went
further
and
was
"
talked
about
"
in
connection
with
me
but
I
was
not
by
any
means
touched
by
any
reality
of
passion
for
either
of
these
young
people
;
love-love
as
yet
came
to
me
only
in
my
dreams
.
I
only
kissed
these
girls
once
or
twice
.
They
rather
disconcerted
than
developed
those
dreams
.
They
were
so
clearly
not
"
it
.
"
I
shall
have
much
to
say
of
love
in
this
story
,
but
I
may
break
it
to
the
reader
now
that
it
is
my
role
to
be
a
rather
ineffectual
lover
.
Desire
I
knew
well
enough-indeed
,
too
well
;
but
love
I
have
been
shy
of
.
In
all
my
early
enterprises
in
the
war
of
the
sexes
,
I
was
torn
between
the
urgency
of
the
body
and
a
habit
of
romantic
fantasy
that
wanted
every
phase
of
the
adventure
to
be
generous
and
beautiful
.
And
I
had
a
curiously
haunting
memory
of
Beatrice
,
of
her
kisses
in
the
bracken
and
her
kiss
upon
the
wall
,
that
somehow
pitched
the
standard
too
high
for
Wimblehurst
's
opportunities
.
I
will
not
deny
I
did
in
a
boyish
way
attempt
a
shy
,
rude
adventure
or
so
in
love-making
at
Wimblehurst
;
but
through
these
various
influences
,
I
did
n't
bring
things
off
to
any
extent
at
all
.
I
left
behind
me
no
devastating
memories
,
no
splendid
reputation
.
I
came
away
at
last
,
still
inexperienced
and
a
little
thwarted
,
with
only
a
natural
growth
of
interest
and
desire
in
sexual
things
.
If
I
fell
in
love
with
any
one
in
Wimblehurst
it
was
with
my
aunt
.
She
treated
me
with
a
kindliness
that
was
only
half
maternal-she
petted
my
books
,
she
knew
about
my
certificates
,
she
made
fun
of
me
in
a
way
that
stirred
my
heart
to
her
.
Quite
unconsciously
I
grew
fond
of
her
...
.
My
adolescent
years
at
Wimblehurst
were
on
the
whole
laborious
,
uneventful
years
that
began
in
short
jackets
and
left
me
in
many
ways
nearly
a
man
,
years
so
uneventful
that
the
Calculus
of
Variations
is
associated
with
one
winter
,
and
an
examination
in
Physics
for
Science
and
Art
department
Honours
marks
an
epoch
.
Many
divergent
impulses
stirred
within
me
,
but
the
master
impulse
was
a
grave
young
disposition
to
work
and
learn
and
thereby
in
some
not
very
clearly
defined
way
get
out
of
the
Wimblehurst
world
into
which
I
had
fallen
.
I
wrote
with
some
frequency
to
Ewart
,
self-conscious
,
but
,
as
I
remember
them
,
not
intelligent
letters
,
dated
in
Latin
and
with
lapses
into
Latin
quotation
that
roused
Ewart
to
parody
.
There
was
something
about
me
in
those
days
more
than
a
little
priggish
.
But
it
was
,
to
do
myself
justice
,
something
more
than
the
petty
pride
of
learning
.
I
had
a
very
grave
sense
of
discipline
and
preparation
that
I
am
not
ashamed
at
all
to
remember
.
I
was
serious
.
More
serious
than
I
am
at
the
present
time
.
More
serious
,
indeed
,
than
any
adult
seems
to
be
.
I
was
capable
then
of
efforts-of
nobilities
...
.
They
are
beyond
me
now
.
I
do
n't
see
why
,
at
forty
,
I
should
n't
confess
I
respect
my
own
youth
.
I
had
dropped
being
a
boy
quite
abruptly
.
I
thought
I
was
presently
to
go
out
into
a
larger
and
quite
important
world
and
do
significant
things
there
.
I
thought
I
was
destined
to
do
something
definite
to
a
world
that
had
a
definite
purpose
.
I
did
not
understand
then
,
as
I
do
now
,
that
life
was
to
consist
largely
in
the
world
's
doing
things
to
me
.
Young
people
never
do
seem
to
understand
that
aspect
of
things
.
And
,
as
I
say
,
among
my
educational
influences
my
uncle
,
all
unsuspected
,
played
a
leading
part
,
and
perhaps
among
other
things
gave
my
discontent
with
Wimblehurst
,
my
desire
to
get
away
from
that
clean
and
picturesque
emptiness
,
a
form
and
expression
that
helped
to
emphasise
it
.
In
a
way
that
definition
made
me
patient
.
"
Presently
I
shall
get
to
London
,
"
I
said
,
echoing
him
.
I
remember
him
now
as
talking
,
always
talking
,
in
those
days
.
He
talked
to
me
of
theology
,
he
talked
of
politics
,
of
the
wonders
of
science
and
the
marvels
of
art
,
of
the
passions
and
the
affections
,
of
the
immortality
of
the
soul
and
the
peculiar
actions
of
drugs
;
but
predominantly
and
constantly
he
talked
of
getting
on
,
of
enterprises
,
of
inventions
and
great
fortunes
,
of
Rothschilds
,
silver
kings
,
Vanderbilts
,
Goulds
,
flotations
,
realisations
and
the
marvelous
ways
of
Chance
with
men-in
all
localities
,
that
is
to
say
,
that
are
not
absolutely
sunken
to
the
level
of
Cold
Mutton
Fat
.
When
I
think
of
those
early
talks
,
I
figure
him
always
in
one
of
three
positions
.
Either
we
were
in
the
dispensing
lair
behind
a
high
barrier
,
he
pounding
up
things
in
a
mortar
perhaps
,
and
I
rolling
pill-stuff
into
long
rolls
and
cutting
it
up
with
a
sort
of
broad
,
fluted
knife
,
or
he
stood
looking
out
of
the
shop
door
against
the
case
of
sponges
and
spray-diffusers
,
while
I
surveyed
him
from
behind
the
counter
,
or
he
leant
against
the
little
drawers
behind
the
counter
,
and
I
hovered
dusting
in
front
.
The
thought
of
those
early
days
brings
back
to
my
nostrils
the
faint
smell
of
scent
that
was
always
in
the
air
,
marbled
now
with
streaks
of
this
drug
and
now
of
that
,
and
to
my
eyes
the
rows
of
jejune
glass
bottles
with
gold
labels
,
mirror-reflected
,
that
stood
behind
him
.
My
aunt
,
I
remember
,
used
sometimes
to
come
into
the
shop
in
a
state
of
aggressive
sprightliness
,
a
sort
of
connubial
ragging
expedition
,
and
get
much
fun
over
the
abbreviated
Latinity
of
those
gilt
inscriptions
.
"
Ol
Amjig
,
George
,
"
she
would
read
derisively
,
"
and
he
pretends
it
's
almond
oil
!
Snap
!
-and
that
's
mustard
.
Did
you
ever
,
George
?
"
Look
at
him
,
George
,
looking
dignified
.
I
'd
like
to
put
an
old
label
on
to
him
round
the
middle
like
his
bottles
are
,
with
Ol
Pondo
on
it
.
That
's
Latin
for
Impostor
,
George
MUST
be
.
He
'd
look
lovely
with
a
stopper
.
"
"
YOU
want
a
stopper
,
"
said
my
uncle
,
projecting
his
face
...
.
My
aunt
,
dear
soul
,
was
in
those
days
quite
thin
and
slender
,
with
a
delicate
rosebud
completion
and
a
disposition
to
connubial
badinage
,
to
a
sort
of
gentle
skylarking
.
There
was
a
silvery
ghost
of
lisping
in
her
speech
.
She
was
a
great
humourist
,
and
as
the
constraint
of
my
presence
at
meals
wore
off
,
I
became
more
and
more
aware
of
a
filmy
but
extensive
net
of
nonsense
she
had
woven
about
her
domestic
relations
until
it
had
become
the
reality
of
her
life
.
She
affected
a
derisive
attitude
to
the
world
at
large
and
applied
the
epithet
"
old
"
to
more
things
than
I
have
ever
heard
linked
to
it
before
or
since
.
"
Here
's
the
old
news-paper
,
"
she
used
to
say-to
my
uncle
.
"
Now
do
n't
go
and
get
it
in
the
butter
,
you
silly
old
Sardine
!
"
"
What
's
the
day
of
the
week
,
Susan
?
"
my
uncle
would
ask
.
"
Old
Monday
,
Sossidge
,
"
she
would
say
,
and
add
,
"
I
got
all
my
Old
Washing
to
do
.
Do
n't
I
KNOW
it
!
"
...
She
had
evidently
been
the
wit
and
joy
of
a
large
circle
of
schoolfellows
,
and
this
style
had
become
a
second
nature
with
her
.
It
made
her
very
delightful
to
me
in
that
quiet
place
.
Her
customary
walk
even
had
a
sort
of
hello
!
in
it
.
Her
chief
preoccupation
in
life
was
,
I
believe
,
to
make
my
uncle
laugh
,
and
when
by
some
new
nickname
,
some
new
quaintness
or
absurdity
,
she
achieved
that
end
,
she
was
,
behind
a
mask
of
sober
amazement
,
the
happiest
woman
on
earth
.
My
uncle
's
laugh
when
it
did
come
,
I
must
admit
was
,
as
Baedeker
says
,
"
rewarding
.
"
It
began
with
gusty
blowings
and
snortings
,
and
opened
into
a
clear
"
Ha
ha
!
"
but
in
fullest
development
it
included
,
in
those
youthful
days
,
falling
about
anyhow
and
doubling
up
tightly
,
and
whackings
of
the
stomach
,
and
tears
and
cries
of
anguish
.
I
never
in
my
life
heard
my
uncle
laugh
to
his
maximum
except
at
her
;
he
was
commonly
too
much
in
earnest
for
that
,
and
he
did
n't
laugh
much
at
all
,
to
my
knowledge
,
after
those
early
years
.
Also
she
threw
things
at
him
to
an
enormous
extent
in
her
resolve
to
keep
things
lively
in
spite
of
Wimblehurst
;
sponges
out
of
stock
she
threw
,
cushions
,
balls
of
paper
,
clean
washing
,
bread
;
and
once
up
the
yard
when
they
thought
that
I
and
the
errand
boy
and
the
diminutive
maid
of
all
work
were
safely
out
of
the
way
,
she
smashed
a
boxful
of
eight-ounce
bottles
I
had
left
to
drain
,
assaulting
my
uncle
with
a
new
soft
broom
.
Sometimes
she
would
shy
things
at
me-but
not
often
.
There
seemed
always
laughter
round
and
about
her-all
three
of
us
would
share
hysterics
at
times-and
on
one
occasion
the
two
of
them
came
home
from
church
shockingly
ashamed
of
themselves
,
because
of
a
storm
of
mirth
during
the
sermon
.
The
vicar
,
it
seems
,
had
tried
to
blow
his
nose
with
a
black
glove
as
well
as
the
customary
pocket-handkerchief
.
And
afterwards
she
had
picked
up
her
own
glove
by
the
finger
,
and
looking
innocently
but
intently
sideways
,
had
suddenly
by
this
simple
expedient
exploded
my
uncle
altogether
.
We
had
it
all
over
again
at
dinner
.
"
But
it
shows
you
,
"
cried
my
uncle
,
suddenly
becoming
grave
,
"
what
Wimblehurst
is
,
to
have
us
all
laughing
at
a
little
thing
like
that
!
We
were
n't
the
only
ones
that
giggled
.
Not
by
any
means
!
And
,
Lord
!
it
was
funny
!
"
Socially
,
my
uncle
and
aunt
were
almost
completely
isolated
.
In
places
like
Wimblehurst
the
tradesmen
's
lives
always
are
isolated
socially
,
all
of
them
,
unless
they
have
a
sister
or
a
bosom
friend
among
the
other
wives
,
but
the
husbands
met
in
various
bar-parlours
or
in
the
billiard-room
of
the
Eastry
Arms
.
But
my
uncle
,
for
the
most
part
,
spent
his
evenings
at
home
.
When
first
he
arrived
in
Wimblehurst
I
think
he
had
spread
his
effect
of
abounding
ideas
and
enterprise
rather
too
aggressively
;
and
Wimblehurst
,
after
a
temporary
subjugation
,
had
rebelled
and
done
its
best
to
make
a
butt
of
him
.
His
appearance
in
a
public-house
led
to
a
pause
in
any
conversation
that
was
going
on
.
"
Come
to
tell
us
about
everything
,
Mr.
Pond'revo
?
"
some
one
would
say
politely
.
"
You
wait
,
"
my
uncle
used
to
answer
,
disconcerted
,
and
sulk
for
the
rest
of
his
visit
.
Or
some
one
with
an
immense
air
of
innocence
would
remark
to
the
world
generally
,
"
They
're
talkin
'
of
rebuildin
'
Wimblehurst
all
