Mother and Son (20 page)

“But then it would not be made,” said Emma. “It would really deserve it.”

“I wonder how it would feel to have a sacrifice made for one,” said Miss Burke.

“Miss Burke, I fear it is an experience you have not met,” said Rosebery.

“Have you met it?” said Julius.

“I remember many instances of it in my mother's dealings with me.”

“They should hardly count. They would have satisfied herself.”

“There is none that does count,” said Emma. “Unless Mr. Hume is making one in giving up his son as his heir.”

“A mild one. Francis is my father's grandson. I could not have accepted any other successor.”

“I cannot help being glad that Mrs. Hume did not know of the change,” said Hester. “I think it would have been a sacrifice to her.”

“The question did not arise until she was dead.”

“Father, may I take exception to that word? It is not one I should use.”

“Well, until her death. What are we to say?”

“Such words come unreadily to my lips.”

“We must use words as they are used, or stand aside from life.”

“The second alternative holds no terrors for me.”

“You are an ideal survivor,” said Emma.

“It is what is left to me, Miss Greatheart, the thing I can be.”

“You can take your part in things with other survivors,” said Julius.

“Father, I am not used to this dealing,” said Rosebery, on a low, incredulous note. “My mother may have been overgentle with me, but it is a harsh and sudden change. I should be allowed to make it more gradually.”

“Your mother always said what was in her mind.”

“Ah, there lies the difference; in the minds.”

“You are not a child, Rosebery.”

“It is what I have been, in a sense, Father. And we know what period is the happiest in our lives. Do not seek to belittle it for me. My claim is a helpless one, and should be met.”

“It is generally the demands of the powerful that are met,” said Miss Burke.

“You are not thinking of me, dear, are you?” said Emma.

“No, I should call you one of the helpless ones.”

“You keep above all manner of work, Miss Greatheart?” said Julius.

“Is ‘above' the word?” said Hester. “Ought we to look down on ordinary usefulness?”

“I wonder if we ought,” said Emma. “Can everyone be wrong?”

“I look down on it,” said Miss Burke. “I know what it is. It has nothing to do with higher things.”

“Miss Burke, is not service numbered amongst those?” said Rosebery, in a soft tone.

“Not when it is enforced. I am not thinking of my present post.”

“I was afraid you were, dear,” said Emma. “Why weren't you, I wonder?”

“It is much to deserve that tribute, Miss Greatheart,” said Rosebery. “You may be of those who do the higher things.”

“I once meant to do them. I began to write a book.”

“I remember you did not continue,” said Hester.

“You ended by putting it on the fire?” said Rosebery, smiling.

“No, I did not. I don't think people do that. I do not know how the idea arose. I ended by putting it in a drawer. And I am not quite sure I have ended.”

“I remember you tried to improve it,” said Hester.

“What a memory you have!”

“It still arouses in you feelings of dissatisfaction and distaste?” said Rosebery. “You put it from you in despair?”

“No, I read it to myself in a low tone.”

“I think I have heard you,” said Miss Burke.

“Then the tone must be lower.”

“Are you ashamed of it?” said Hester.

“Well, I don't think that is the word.”

“You feel the natural self-consciousness of the artist,” suggested Rosebery.

“Is that what it is?”

“So now you do nothing,” said Hester, “and think that is better than the ordinary useful duties.”

“Well, they are the worst things in life.”

“Most of life is made up of them.”

“Well, it is known to be a tragic thing.”

“I have never tried to write,” said Hester.

“I think that may be safely said of most of us here,” said Rosebery. “Even Miss Greatheart's effort has not come to fulfilment.”

“Of course it has not,” said Emma. “How can effort do that? I don't see any way.”

“How do you explain the thousands of books that come out every year?”

“I do not explain them. There seems to me to be no explanation.”

“It suggests that writing a book is not in your line,” said Hester.

“People are known never to accept suggestions, even to be rather annoyed by them.”

“I also have made the attempt,” said Julius. “And it likewise came to nothing.”

“You put it on the fire, Father?” said Rosebery. “I can just imagine it.”

“I cannot,” said Emma; “I have not a strong enough imagination. He put it in a drawer. That is what is meant by coming to nothing.”

“I wonder there is any drawer space left,” said Miss Burke.

“That would be trying for you, Miss Burke, with your domestic requirements,” said Rosebery, laughing. “Well, Father, of what nature was your uncompleted work?”

“It was a story, or part of one.”

“Why did you embark on that feminine branch of literature?”

“Because of his knowledge of human nature,” said Emma.

“In your case, Miss Greatheart, that was a natural reason. Our little human characteristics constitute your sphere of interest. I am far from regarding the minutiae of our lives as unfitting material for the pen. But I should have expected some serious subject to engage my father's effort.”

“There is no point in reading other people's books and reproducing them,” said Julius. “I have no real knowledge of anything.”

“But is there any point in adding to the amount of fiction that appears?”

“Well, it does not seem that I am going to do so.”

“I wanted so much to add to it,” said Emma.

“I can feel I have worked in the same sphere as Miss Greatheart,” said Julius.

“We all have much in common, if unsuccessful effort is to count,” said Hester.

“Miss Wolsey, I should not have thought the words applied to you,” said Rosebery. “I should have judged you to have a nice perception of what was within your range.”

“Oh, I just do what comes to my hand, without referring things to myself. I believe I often cease to exist in my own eyes.”

“Miss Burke, that is a thing that may probably be said of you.”

“No, I think I exist to myself the more, that I have not always done so to other people.”

“We are in error in thinking that all the old abuses are eradicated,” said Rosebery, gravely.

“They cannot be, while people have power,” said
Emma. “If they did not use it for themselves, what good would it be to them?”

“It occurs to me, Father,” said Rosebery, “that Miss Greatheart and Alice represent the same mental type at different stages. I could imagine them mother and daughter, if it were not a violent flight of fancy.”

“I hardly think it is,” said Julius.

“It is to me,” said Hester, laughing. “Emma as a mother is a conception quite beyond me. And I have no doubt it is also beyond her.”

“It is a conception involving all respect,” said Rosebery, “though I doubt if she would value it.”

“I always value respect,” said Emma. “But I think I value envy more.”

“Do you have much of it?” said Julius.

“No, I am afraid very little.”

“I have had a certain amount,” said Hester. “But I have not valued it. I have been too sorry for the people who felt it.”

“Why do you value it more than respect, Miss Greatheart?” said Rosebery.

“Because people envy what is good for ourselves, and respect what we do for other people. Their sense of values is so true.”

“Miss Burke, I would hazard that you can view anyone's advantages without a thought of yourself.”

“Perhaps, if they are on a large scale. I find I envy people with a competence.”

“I fear that that may be called the epitome of your life.”

“She only means she would like a competence herself,” said Hester.

“That is at the root of all envy, that we should like it ourselves,” said Julius. “The next step is disliking other people to have it.”

“It does seem they ought not to keep it,” said Emma, “when someone else would like it. That is why we do charity; to feel that we are not keeping quite all.”

“It must be an experience to live with Miss Greatheart,” said Rosebery to Miss Burke.

“Yes, she is not like other people.”

“May I say,” said Rosebery, in a low tone,” that that is my opinion of someone else?”

“We should go to the drawing-room,” said Hester. “We are beginning to talk in pairs. It is a sign that change is needed.”

“It might have the opposite suggestion,” said Julius.

“No, it means that general conversation is flagging and needs a stimulus.”

“Why is general conversation superior to what are known as tête-à-têtes?” said Rosebery.

“Because it is a social obligation, and it is our duty to maintain it. Otherwise someone may be left out in the cold. It is not a thing that happens to me; somehow I seem to be immune from it; but it makes me more sensitive to it for other people. I might feel I was partly the cause.”

“I am sure I should feel that,” said Emma.

“You have a sure foothold here, Miss Burke,” said Rosebery, under cover of the move. “I feel you have had much to contend with in your life. It must be a
great thing for a man to release a woman from such stress. I could envy it more than the making of a worldly match.”

“Who is making a match?” said Hester.

“Someone in my imagination, Miss Wolsey.”

“I am glad it is not in real life,” said Emma.

“Do you not approve of matrimony, Miss Greatheart?”

“Well, it puts an end to so much that I do approve of.”

“Do marriages really break up friendships?” said Julius.

“You are in a position to say, Father.”

“Well, I think some of mine grew weaker and died. But they might have done so anyhow.”

“It is strange how all things die,” said Rosebery. “Nothing escapes the common destiny. We are not the only things that are mortal.”

“I thought you thought we were the only ones that were not,” said Emma.

“In another sense, Miss Greatheart.”

“I should get very tired of life, if it went on for ever,” said Miss Burke.

“Are you not imagining an eternal routine on the pattern of your present one?” said Rosebery, gently.

“Perhaps I am.”

“Then you would get tired, dear,” said Emma.

Julius laughed.

“I have said it before,” said Rosebery, “and I do not scruple to say it again. These subjects lend themselves too easily to a certain brand of humour. We should be on our guard.”

“Would anyone like to live for ever?” said Hester.

“I should,” said Emma, “if I could have a comfortable, human life and not a spiritual one.”

“I think you are not serious,” said Rosebery.

“Well, I meant what I said.”

“Miss Greatheart, if I said anything, I should say too much.”

“Well, silence is golden,” said Julius.

“I do not know how it is, Father,” said Rosebery, with controlled force, “but I miss my mother more on these occasions than when I am alone.”

“I can explain it. You can do as you will with solitude. It does not take you on equal terms.”

“There may be food for thought there, Father.”

“Your son is too good for this world,” said Emma to Julius. “I see what the words mean.”

“That sounds quite conventional,” said Hester.

“Miss Greatheart's usual object is to sound the opposite,” said Rosebery. “I think the cat wants someone to open the door.”

“Let me do it,” said Hester. “It is such a long time since I waited on him. He goes through quite differently when I open it.”

Plautus went through, as if it had opened itself, as he may have had an idea that it did, if he bided his time.

“I hope we shall soon see you at our house, Miss Greatheart,” said Julius. “This is the second time we have been to yours. I should like my niece and nephews to know you.”

“I have introduced them to her many times,” said Hester. “She sees them through my eyes. I would not
say it is through rose-coloured spectacles, but I feel it is a happy introduction.”

“I want her to see them through her own, to see them as they are. That is how I like them.”

“It is how anyone would like them. They are a trio after my heart. We are becoming indispensable to each other.”

“Miss Wolsey, you have done much for them,” said Rosebery.

“She will do more, if she will bring her friend to see them,” said Julius. “It is a thing your mother suggested.”

“That will sanctify the visit to us, Father.”

“It will need the help,” said Emma. “I am not as Hester is. I have had the chance to live for myself, and I have taken it.”

“Miss Greatheart, comparisons are odious,” said Rosebery.

“I do not find this one so,” said Julius, smiling.

“I did the same until lately,” said Hester. “There is no difference between us there.”

“There is a great difference between you,” said Julius, “as there is between all definite people.”

“Yes, I fear I am the most definite, clear-cut person, built on the most uncompromisingly firm lines. I can make no claim to interesting vagueness. Such is my natural self, and people must accept it. And I daresay it tends to be the better thing.”

“I hardly know what my natural self is,” said Emma. “I should be afraid to know. Or I should be afraid for other people to. I don't really mind about myself.”