Ivy Compton-Burnett - Two Worlds and Their Ways

“Do tell us what it is like, Clemence,” said Gwendolen.

“Oh, I don’t know. I have hardly seen it. It has been so little good. And I daresay I have grown out of it.”

“And you do not care if you have, Clemence,” said Miss Chancellor, smiling.

“Will you have it at the end of the term?” said Verity.

“I suppose it will be sent, if I ask for it, or one something like it. I don’t much like party dresses. They are too different from the ordinary kind.”

“That is a reasonable criticism of some of them, Clemence,” said Maud.

“Maud has never worn one against which the criticism could be brought,” said Verity, in a murmur that seemed designed to escape the general ear, and apparently did escape Maud’s, as she gave every sign of not hearing it.

“Things that are grown out of, and cannot be seen, might just as well not exist,” said Esther “I daresay they often do not.”

“Esther, we know you are over-tired,” said Maud. “Otherwise we should not be proud of you.”

“I hope the same excuse can be made for you, Verity,” said Miss Chancellor, “but you do not look over-tired.”

Verity moved to her bed and sank down on it, giving colour to another view.

“Well, I don’t mind if it doesn’t,” said Clemence, with a laugh. “It would be a fussy-looking thing. And I like things that are old and comfortable.” She settled her shoulders in the dress she wore.

“You said it did exist,” said Esther. “Or you implied it.”

“Well, it may have found its way to the rag-bag by now.”

“We could all have plenty of dresses on that understanding.”

“Or it may be unearthed and lengthened and altered and given to me instead of a new one. Then you will have the pleasure of seeing it. Though I should not think it would be much pleasure.”

“It is easy to see you have not been to school before, Clemence,” said Miss Chancellor. “But I understand you have done a fair amount of work at home.”

“Yes, with a governess, and with my brother’s tutor.”

“You have learned Latin and Greek?”

“Yes, up to a point. Of course, not very much of them.”

“Greek?” said Gwendolen. “Then are you going to do something, when you grow up?”

“Do something? How do you mean?”

“Well, I hope she will not do nothing, Gwendolen,” said Miss Chancellor.

“Do some sort of work for a salary,” said Esther.

“No, I do not suppose so. Why, are the rest of you going to?”

“No, but we do not learn Greek.”

“I envy you Clemence,” said Maud.

“So do I, Maud,” said Miss Chancellor. “I wish I had had such opportunities when I was young. We shall see if Clemence has made the most of them. Or rather Miss Laurence will tell us in her own good time, or will tell herself. What she tells us is her own affair.”

“I hope she will not tell me,” said Clemence.

“You need not be afraid, Clemence. There is nothing to fear in Miss Laurence’s teaching, for those who can respond to her influence. That there may be for those who do not, I do not deny. It would be idle to do so.”

“I do not know what her real influence is,” said Gwendolen. “She rules me by fear.”

“You are very fond of Miss Laurence, are you not, Miss Chancellor?” said Verity.

“Yes, very fond, Verity. She taught me when I was your age, and it was an experience not to be forgotten. I certainly shall never forget it.”

“Being taught by someone does not always make people fond of the person,” said Esther.

“No, it does not, Esther. I do not flatter myself, for example, that any of you are very fond of me. But I can do my work and find it interesting, in spite of that. Indeed I do not find that that sort of feeling plays much part in my life.”

“People are supposed to be proud of odd things,” said Verity. “And I suppose a failure to inspire human affection is one of them.”

“But Miss Laurence is another matter,” went on Miss Chancellor. “She has the gift of inspiring her pupils, or some of them, with a strong feeling.”

“I do not call it a gift,” said Gwendolen. “It is a vice.”

“Well, but, Miss Chancellor, you are not very fond of us, are you?” said Verity.

“No, I am not, Verity,” said Miss Chancellor, with the unsparing note. “As I have said, affection is not necessary, and perhaps not natural, to me in such a relation. I neither inspire it nor feel it. But Miss Laurence often does both. Clemence is fortunate to meet with teaching on that level.”

“And are not the rest of us fortunate?” said Esther.

“You can answer that question for yourself, Esther. I cannot do it for you.”

“I wish you would stop boasting of things you ought to be ashamed of, Miss Chancellor,” said Gwendolen. “You are fond of us, aren’t you, dear Miss Tuke?”

“Dear, dear! What should I do without you all?” said the latter, continuing her occupations under existing conditions.

“You are unfeeling, Miss Chancellor,” said Verity. “You make no attempt to come near to us.”

“No, I do not, Verity. It is the last thing I should think due from me to you,” said Miss Chancellor, going to the door. “Now, I hope you will all sleep well and appear punctual and bright in my classroom in the morning.”

“I hope you will sleep, Miss Chancellor,” said Gwendolen, “but I do not see how you can, with such a burden of remorse upon you.”

“Miss Chancellor has taken a fancy to Clemence,” said Esther.

“And promised her that Miss Laurence shall do the same,” said Verity.

“Now how much more time are you going to waste?” said Miss Tuke. “The other girls will wonder what has happened to me.”

“I wish you would ignore their claims and sit with us until we are asleep,” said Gwendolen. “This harsh bringing-up will make hard women of us. We shall want other people to suffer as we have.”

“I wonder what you would say, if you had one,” said Miss Tuke, going round the beds and imprinting a kiss on each cheek. “Now no more chatter until the morning. I put you on your honour not to say another word.”

“Why did you say that your governess came with you to school, when really only your mother did?” said Esther to Clemence, as the door closed.

“Did I say so? I got so muddled by all your questions. And she did come. She did some shopping while my mother was here, and they were to travel back together.”

“Then she did not come to the house?”

“Yes, she came and went away again. They were to meet at the station.”

“Then she could not have been getting into the cab at the last. You knew it was your mother.”

“I did not know who it was. She might have come back at any time. She is always here and there and everywhere.”

“But if she had come back, you would have seen her.”

“I might not have. I did not stay in the drawing-room all the time. It seemed that my mother and Miss Firebrace wanted to talk without me.”

“As was to be expected, Clemence,” said Maud.

“But wouldn’t you have gone back to say goodbye to the governess?” said Esther. “Or is yours an old-fashioned family where she is not treated like other people?”

“We said goodbye in the morning, before I started.”

“But you could not have, if you were to travel together.”

“Oh, indeed we could. You don’t know the Petticoat’s goodbyes. They stretch right over the past and future. Nothing that we could have said here, would have added to them.”

“We all know that sort of goodbye,” said Maud, “and it was a very natural occasion on which to have one. Now do leave poor Clemence alone, Esther. Anyone might find the first day confusing, and you are not doing anything to make it less so. And naturally she knows her own affairs.”