No, it would be folly on his part to break the rule of years, to open his correspondence just to satisfy a moment's panic. What he had done for the country was his monument, no-one could steal that, even if they voted him tomorrow into the hunt kennels for broken down scientists. Because he wasn't going on a chain. Because he'd take the money instead, or refuse it. Besides he injured no-one in the blameless life he led here. And an individual still had some rights under the State. And if he opened this letter now, learned whether or no he had been elected, he could tell the turn their conversation would take when he met Miss Edge at the dance tonight. By the way, was he going?
Well, Mr Rock, she'd say, and am I to congratulate you, or some such phrase, the smarming harpy, after which, if he knew he had been elected, he would have to smirk thank you, yes, they've put me in, I'm delivered over to their charity now all right. Or, on the other hand, if they had not elected him, was he to eat humble pie, tell her that young men whose work he despised had not thought him worth the candle, after all he'd done. Never, he told himself, never, he'd take the money, and then found he was actually opening the letter he had assumed to be from young Hargreaves, and which wasn't from the man after all.
"Dear Sir," it read.
"Although I have not the honour of your acquaintance, yet due to the pride of place which science occupies in the State, thereby she can work for the good of all, I write to enquire. ." and the old man, who was breathing easier for his rest, thrust the thing back into its envelope, got off the trunk, opened this, and put the day's post onto a mass of other unopened letters. Muttering, he stumped off to his outhouse to boil the swill. He found he had no paper with which to light a fire, came back, raised the lid, took a fistful of letters at random, and used these. He employed the daily newspaper, which he never read, only in the outside lavatory.
The fire was lit when he half heard a remark behind. He turned round, saw his granddaughter, Liz. She was a distracted looking woman and wore his winter overcoat over red cotton pyjamas, with rubber boots.
"Morning Gapa," she said, as always to him, in an exaggeratedly loud voice, "I think, you know, it's going to be a lovely day."
"There you are, dear," he replied, and his sour old face cracked into a grave smile. "Did you sleep all right?"
"Took me rather a long time to sink off and then it was so tiresome, you know how things are, I awoke, I don't know what time it was, oh about four in the morning, and couldn't drop off again."
"Hadn't you better go back to bed then, dear," he said. "I would if I were you. And I'll bring you up a bite, directly I've done Daisy's swill."
"Oh but I had to come down at once, soon as ever I heard the postman, I mean I'm so excited for you, Gapa dear, today of all days this must mean such a great deal. ." and, as so often, her mind fell away in a wail while she looked at him out of big empty eyes.
"Now what are you getting at?" he enquired, like she were a child. His tone was good-humoured, although he knew very well what she had tried to express.
"Well, it's the dawn of the day after, isn't it?" she said. "When they had their meeting? I thought, that's to say I expected, well, I do think Mr Hargreaves might have written, just to tell, I mean. I'm so keen about this for you, there, of course."
"Why, so it is, I hadn't given a thought," he lied, and turned his back to stir what was in the pot.
"You mean to say you've put your letters away like you always do, this morning out of all, because it's important, you see, they might have had to write specially and you ought to answer. Oh Gapa," she ended. "Don't you understand?"
"Liz dear," he said, "there's little enough to upset anyone. They know me better than to write. And whatever the thing is won't make any difference. I've told you. Surely you remember?"
"You stand there and say that after all I poured out to you last night, what you want to tell me is that not a word, I mean absolutely water off a pig's back, no difference at all, that you didn't even listen yesterday? Oh, you can be stubborn."
"Now Liz," he said. Tears came into his eyes, but she could not see because he stood averted.
"Look," the woman said, and meant it so much that she actually managed a connected sentence. "Would you allow me to get this morning's post out of your box?"
"You'd not find much, dear," he said. "I used them to light the fire."
"That's that, then," she said, not displeased. She liked decisions postponed.
"I should run along, dear, and have your rest out," he said, disappointed.
Liz did not move.
"About tonight," she said. If he had watched, he would have seen an expression of satisfied guile pass across her face. "What are you, I mean, had you thought, will you go?"
"In the circumstances, yes, I think we'd better."
"What circumstances?" she asked sharply, for it would be too absurd if he imagined he must chaperon her with Sebastian.
"Why nothing," he said. "Only they might be curious, just now, if we did not put in an appearance. Though I'm too old for that sort of idiot jollification," he said.
"Oh, Gapa I am glad, that's splendid, because I was so keen, you see I'm so proud, proud to… you know, and I was afraid. ."
"We're only on sufferance here, you understand," he pointed out, glad to ignore her genuine enthusiasm. He was aware of her desire to show him off, and, if he had remembered this in time, it might easily have prevented him coming to the dance.
"Dear Gapa," she said. "If you could only understand, I do so wish you'd realise why there's no-one, there couldn't be, and here of all places, why they'd never dare, what, after all you've done, oh it's too absurd?"
He did not reply.
"Did you see Sebastian already?" she asked.
"No. He had the night off," he replied, as though to keep up a polite fiction.
"He didn't," Liz said. It was noticeable when she spoke of this young man, and even more so when in his presence, that she was fairly collected in her talk. "He slept over there, after all. He thought it would look strange to be away, you see, well not there, the day of the dance."
Mr Rock's jealousy and disbelief choked him before he could answer.
"He said he'd come over early," she explained.
"You get back into the house, then," he told Liz, all the more certain she had only come out to leave the way free for Master Birt to get off. "I'll see if I can't fetch you breakfast presently."
"But how about, I mean you've been up all this time, have you had some, oh, now Gapa, you can really try one so, what about you?"