Ivy Compton-Burnett - Two Worlds and Their Ways

“Well, I have many opportunities of observing the boys, and it leads to forming an unconscious estimate of them.”

“Where would you put my boy?” said Sir Roderick, in a tone so easy that he hardly seemed to utter the words.

“Well, there is no need to say he was not ordinary, Sir Roderick, as no one thought he was.”

Maria’s face flushed, and she seemed to hold herself from moving forward.

“Where would Miss Tuke put my girl?” she said, her tone seeming to echo the easiness of her husband’s.

“My work is to look after them, Lady Shelley, and with such a number I find it enough. I do not see their work and play. All I can say of Clemence is that I miss her so much that I could cry when I go into her dormitory.”

“Why did you snatch her from us, Lady Shelley?” said Gwendolen.

“Perhaps for that very reason, that I cried when I went into her dormitory. I hope it was not too much because of that. I thought the life at home would suit her better, kind and clever as you all are.”

“It may suit her health better,” said Miss Chancellor, looking at Clemence. “She was paler and thinner as the term went on, sorry as I am to admit it. My hopes of taking her back with us are fading. I confess I was not quite without them.”

“I did not know we had a traitor in the camp,” said Lesbia. “Oh, you are the person I ought to have asked about her standing, Miss Chancellor.”

“It is not my habit to talk of the girls to their faces, Lady Shelley. I remember how I disliked it when I was a child. But this hardly comes under the head of what can be termed personal remarks. I will say what Miss James said of your son, that there is no need to say she is not ordinary, as no one thought she was.”

Maria drew a breath and turned her eyes on her husband, as though calling his attention to a vindication of herself.

“What was my standing among the masters?” said Oliver. “I do not like it to be thought that no one wants to know. I am sensitive about my position in my family.”

“We are dependent upon you, Miss James,” said his father.

“Well, Sir Roderick, I can only refer to the humorous and original atmosphere that was diffused through the school in Mr. Shelley’s time with us. I cannot say anything more intimate, as I was not thrown with him.”

“Cannot you say a word against the new man?” said Oliver.

“I am not criticising him, Mr. Shelley. He does his work and takes his part in the common life, and that is as much as can be said for most of us. I do not imply any disparagement. There would be no occasion.”

“I think we will have coffee in the drawing-room,” said Maria, rising.

“You cannot give your mind to the talk about me,” said Oliver. “How I am alone amongst many!”

Miss Chancellor followed Maria with an air of ease, and Miss James and Miss Tuke with observation and reproduction of it. The girls appeared accustomed to the ceremony, and the boys to be surprised by it.

“Do you always have coffee with your parents, Shelley?” said Holland.

“No, it is only because you are here.”

“Do you, Clemence?” said Verity, in her idle tone.

“Well, I do sometimes, but I am older than Sefton,” said Clemence, looking to see if her family was in earshot, and seeing only Oliver, who appeared not to hear.

“Are we to see Adela?” said Verity, with her veiled smile. “We have seen Aldom.”

“That suggestion should surely have come from Clemence,” said Maud.

“You can come upstairs, if you like. She will be in the schoolroom. Mother, we are going upstairs to see Adela.”

“Yes, do, my dear. She will be very pleased. But do not exaggerate the entertainment. Bring your friends down when they have had enough.”

The girls linked arms and mounted the staircase, the guests noting its shallowness and breadth, the hostess relieved that no eyes were upon them. She had not reckoned with this transference of school customs to her home. Adela rose at their entrance, set chairs for them, and stood in silence.

“Is this the schoolroom, Clemence?” said Esther, in a tone of lively interest.

“Yes. It used to be the nursery. It still looks rather like that.”

“Of course your brother is only eleven,” said Verity, in smiling quotation.

“The room has grown of itself and never had anything done to it,” said Gwendolen. “It somehow makes me feel homesick.”

“I used to want it sometimes, when I was at school,” said Clemence.

“We have heard so much about you, Adela,” said Maud, her tone suggesting that it was time for such a speech.

“Thank you, miss. No doubt your name is familiar.”

“We grudge you your companion,” said Gwendolen. “I believe you used your influence to wean her from us.”

“Well, miss, I do not take the view that her own home is not the place for her. I do not disguise the opinion.”

“I think you ought to,” said Verity. “It savours of mean triumph.”

“Well, triumph it may be in a sense, miss. But meanness does not come into it, it not being in my nature.”

“You have looked after Miss Clemence all her life,” said Maud. “You have more claim to her than we have.”

“Well, miss, claim is not the word, as I am aware. But a bond remains.”

“Do you help her to choose her clothes?” said Esther.

“Well, miss, she has not reached the stage of interest, as you have no doubt observed. But the time for that is to come.”

“I was thinking of the dress she had at Christmas.”

“It would not do to think of the other things,” said Clemence.

“You go further than you know, Miss Clemence,” said Adela, on a severe note.

“Why don’t you come back to school, Clemence, with a lot of nice things?” said Esther.

“The prospect is not in my line. Neither one part of it nor the other.”

“There are other things at school than wearing pretty clothes,” said Adela. “When Miss Clemence came home, my heart ached to see her.”

“But she is clever at her books, Adela,” said Maud.

“Clever at her books,” murmured Verity, in mockery of Maud’s adaptation of herself.

“She can be that at home miss, as she always had been. It did not come from leaving it.”

“What a lovely view!” said Esther, going to the window. “We should like to see the park, Clemence.”

“Esther, that suggestion should have come from Clemence,” said Verity, in the tones of Maud.

“I will have Miss Clemence ready in a moment, miss.”

Clemence stood to be dressed, as though used to doing nothing for herself, regardful of Adela’s conception of a girl attended by her maid, but feeling that the clothes modified it to one of a child and a nurse. Then she accepted the arms of her companions and descended the stairs. They walked with linked arms about the park, now and then catching a glimpse of the boys, but showing no wish to advance on it. Clemence held herself uneasily, fearful of eyes at the windows. The gulf between the words of school and home, the ignorance in each of the other, made her wonder she had ever thought she could live between them. Exhaustion was superseding excitement, and she found herself longing for the end of the day.

“I suppose you know every inch of this park, Clemence?” said Verity.

“Well, all the separate parts of it. It is different at different times of the year. It is best in spring and autumn.”

“I think I like the country in the winter best,” said Maud.

“I wonder how often that is true,” said Verity. “It sounds a thing worth saying for the sake of saying it.”

“It is true in my case, Verity, or I should not have said it.”

“What time is really the best, Clemence?” said Esther.