Ivy Compton-Burnett - Two Worlds and Their Ways

“Perhaps we might make an exception of Verity, Gwendolen,” said Maud, “if we are to be open in our discussion, which is a breach of convention, of course.”

“I am not prepared to be drawn into a comparison of the respective gifts of Verity and Clemence,” said Miss Chancellor.

“What is this about Verity and Clemence and their gifts?” said Maria, coming from the drawing-room, and throwing an arm about her daughter, as she surveyed the guests. “I know which one is Clemence. So now which is Verity?”

“We do not meet quite as strangers, Lady Shelley,” said Miss Chancellor, shaking hands. “We had a talk at the railway station at the end of last term. I do not know if you remember.”

“Of course I do. Why should my memory be poorer than yours? I was glad to meet the mistress of Clemence’s form. And now I am glad to meet a friend of us both.”

“We did not know then that we were to lose Clemence.”

“Why did she desert us, Lady Shelley?” said Gwendolen.

“She was the cleverest of any of us. Things are quite different without her,” said Esther, attracting Maria’s eyes by her sudden utterance.

“We thought she would tread the thorny path of learning at our side,” said Verity.

“And that to her it would not be thorny,” said Maud.

“How kind you all are! Clemence could find many pretty things to say about you. So fresh and nice as you all look,” said Maria, taking the arm of the nearest and leading the way to the drawing-room. “I cannot feel much pride in the little ragamuffin herself. She ought to have profited more by your example. Her father is waiting to meet you; he has been looking forward to the day.”

“Let me introduce Miss Tuke, Lady Shelley,” said Miss Chancellor.

“Oh, kind Miss Tuke! I know her well by name,” said Maria, putting her other arm through the latter’s, and continuing suitably to talk of her in the third person, as she had not looked at her face. “She was so good to Clemence when she was ill. I do not know Clemence’s reason for keeping you in the hall.”

This did not matter, as the girls knew and understood it, an instinct to postpone the meeting of family and friends.

“Now here you all are! This is kindness indeed,” said Sir Roderick, sending his eyes over the girls in open appraisement. “Now come and sit down and talk to me. I am not going to waste this opportunity.”

The girls obeyed him with an ease and success that suggested a regard for effect. Miss Chancellor rested her eyes on them. Lesbia did not do so. Clemence leaned back in her chair, already pale with her experience.

“Now you two should have things in common,” said Maria, with a hand on the shoulders of Miss Chancellor and Miss Petticott. “You must be initiates in many of the same mysteries.”

“We have Clemence in common, Lady Shelley, and that is a foundation you share with us,” said Miss Chancellor, who inclined to her hostess’s company. “Or rather that we share with you.”

“And you share it too,” said Maria, transferring a hand to Miss Tuke. “Though I do not know why we should choose that particular foundation.”

Miss Petticott and Miss Tuke looked at each other, suddenly exchanged a handshake and fell into fluent talk. Maria turned to Miss Chancellor and discussed education with lively interest, and the latter gave of her best and had her reward. Sir Roderick’s talk with the girls resolved itself into a discussion on equal terms with Maud, and the others transferred their attention to Clemence.

“I feel as if I had always lived here,” said Gwendolen. “I suppose anyone who had, would always have done it. It feels as if things had always been the same.”

“Even the clothes,” murmured Verity.

“Yes, Clemence, both your dress and your mother’s are those you wore on the day you came to school,” said Esther, in a tone of interest. “We saw your mother from the window.”

“Are they?” said Clemence, idly.

“Don’t you remember?” said Verity.

“I daresay I should, if I threw my thoughts back over all that time.”

“The Petticoat!” said Verity, with her covert smile, indicating the bearer of this nickname.

“Yes, but do not let her hear you call her that.”

“Would she mind what we do?”

“I daresay not. But she might not like me to have told you.”

“What is there to like about it?” said Gwendolen. “Verity, why are you not on your proper behaviour as a guest?”

“I suppose because Maud’s back is turned,” said Verity, locking her hands behind her head, and then glancing at Miss Chancellor and withdrawing them.

“What a lot Miss Tuke and Miss Petticott have to say to each other!” said Esther. “Miss Tuke does not generally open her mouth.”

“They look rather alike,” said Verity. “No, I do not mean alike; rather as if they were somehow in the same sort of world.”

“Well, I daresay they are,” said Clemence. “Miss Petticott is not a qualified person like your mistresses. We have Sefton’s tutor to teach us their sort of subjects.”

“Where is your brother, Clemence?” said Gwendolen.

“He will be coming in presently, when his friends are here.”

“Is he having friends too, today?”

“Yes, from his school. They are coming by a later train. He left the school at the end of the term, as I did.”

“Did he leave for any particular reason?” said Esther.

“No, just as I did,” said Clemence, hurrying her words. “He was supposed not to look so well, or to have been overworked or something.”

“If there had been ten of you, would you all have left?” said Verity. “I suppose some of you would have reached the leaving age.”

“Oh, the powers that be, settled it between them. I do not know much about it. My parents seem to like home education best.”

“They may be afraid of your becoming unfitted for home life,” said Esther. “That would have happened soon enough. If you were not relations of Miss Firebrace, you would have had to give a term’s notice. I mean, you would have had to pay the fees for the term.”

“We did have to. I heard it being talked about. My father and mother were not very pleased about it.”

“I should think not,” said Gwendolen. “Mine would not have been pleased at all. I should have been made to feel quite guilty.”

“Did you not have to feel guilty, Clemence?” said Esther.

“It was nothing to do with me. School customs are not my fault.”

“Why did you not come back for the one term?” said Verity.

“Oh, I don’t know. It was not even suggested.”

“So your parents wasted a term’s fees to indulge their inclinations,” said Gwendolen, while three pairs of eyes passed over Clemence’s clothes. “I wish mine had as much to spare, and would spend it so easily.”

“People spend on such different things,” said Esther.

“Which life do you really prefer, Clemence?” said Verity.

“It is a good thing that Maud cannot hear, so that we can show our true natures,” said Gwendolen. “She would be so ashamed of us, and so would Miss Chancellor. I should be ashamed of myself, if I were capable of such a feeling.”

“Really, Gwendolen, I think you do yourself an injustice,” said Verity, in idle imitation of Miss Chancellor.

“I have seen no sign in you of such insensitiveness,” said Esther, in the same manner.

“Well, which life do you prefer, Clemence?” said Verity.

“Oh, home on the whole, I suppose. But there were things I liked about school; the changes in teaching and the different people as companions. Home life does incline to be rather the same.”

“You have no affection for us, as we have for you,” said Gwendolen. “I shall give way when we get home, because we never won your heart.”