‘Well, that will not matter,’ said Miss Pilbeam, laughing amusedly. ‘I think this is your luncheon.’
‘It is your luncheon too.’
‘Yes, I think we are to have it together.’
‘Does she have to pay for it?’ said Gavin, aside to his sister.
‘Master Gavin, that is very rude,’ said Mullet. ‘Miss Honor must be quite ashamed.’
‘I am not,’ said Honor.
‘Can I get you anything else, miss?’
‘She would not dare to say “Yes”,’ said Gavin.
‘Now I shall tell Hatton,’ said Mullet.
‘I can talk to Honor, if I like.’
‘Hatton would wish to know.’
‘Then she will be pleased about it.’
‘I think he is not himself,’ said Miss Pilbeam. ‘He may be shy. Perhaps we might pass it over this time.’
‘Now isn’t that kind of Miss Pilbeam?’
‘She is trying to curry favour.’
‘You can leave him to me, Mullet. We will see what your mother says presently, Gavin.’
Mullet took her tray, and Gavin swung on his chair to show his indifference, a state which certainly could not be deduced from his expression.
‘Mother does not like to be worried about little things.’ said Honor.
‘Rudeness is not a little thing.’
‘Pretence rudeness is,’ said Gavin.
‘Why do you pretend anything so babyish and silly?’
‘Honor and I always pretend.’
‘Well, if you pretend rudeness again, I shall ask your mother what to do about it.’
Gavin ceased to swing, the purpose of the process being over.
‘She can’t stand on her own legs,’ murmured Honor.
Miss Pilbeam fixed her eyes on Honor’s face, kept them there for some moments, and withdrew them with an air of ruminative purpose.
‘We have Latin now,’ said Honor, in a pleasant tone. ‘We are doing a book called Caesar. We have only read one page.’
‘Well, in that case we will not go on with it today. I will take the book home and read it to myself, so that I can tell you the story. That will make it easier.’
‘Graham has a translation of it,’ said Gavin. ‘But Miss Mitford reads Latin books without.’
‘Oh, we won’t talk about translations,’ said Miss Pilbeam, justified in her protest, as she was going to make no mention of one she had seen at home.
‘Why can’t we just read the translation?’ said Honor. ‘We should know what was in the book.’
‘Because that is not the way to learn Latin,’ said Miss Pilbeam, who meant to use it only as a way of managing without having done so. ‘We will do some Latin grammar this morning.’
‘We don’t much like doing that.’
‘But think how useful it will be in reading the books,’ said Miss Pilbeam, with earnestness and faith.
‘Latin is a dead language,’ said Gavin.
‘Yes, it is not actually spoken now,’ said Miss Pilbeam, confirming and amplifying his knowledge. ‘But it is nice to be able to read it. It is the key to so much.’
‘The key?’
‘Yes, it opens the gates of knowledge,’ said Miss Pilbeam, laying her hands on the table and looking into Gavin’s face.
‘Miss Pilbeam is speaking metaphorically,’ said Honor.
‘Yes, I was; I am glad you understood.’
‘I didn’t,’ said Gavin.
‘We must make allowances for those twelve months,’ said Miss Pilbeam, smiling. ‘Here is your little brother.’
Nevill left Hatton in the doorway, ran twice round Miss Pilbeam, paused at her knee and raised his eyes to her face.
‘He is the youngest, miss. These are his first lessons.’
‘Hatton teach him,’ said Nevill, on a sudden note of apprehension.
‘No, Miss Pilbeam can teach better than I can.’
‘Not as well as Hatton,’ said Nevill, his tone changing to one of resignation and goodwill; ‘but very nice.’
‘I will leave him, miss. If he is not good, send one of the others to fetch me.’
‘We can ring for Mullet,’ said Honor.
‘No, Mullet has other things to do.’
‘We might refuse to go,’ said Gavin.
Hatton left the room in a smooth manner, suggestive merely of concern that Nevill should not notice her going.
Miss Pilbeam bent towards the latter.
‘Can you say A, b, c?’
‘A, b, c,’ said Nevill, looking up.
‘He doesn’t know anything,’ said Honor.
‘He does,’ said Nevill, not taking his eyes from Miss Pilbeam’s face.
‘Well, I will teach you four letters, and show you how to make them,’ said Miss Pilbeam, lifting him to her knee.
‘A chair like Gavin.’
‘No, a chair would not be high enough.’
‘Shall he paint?’ said Nevill, who sat on Mullet’s knee for this purpose.
‘Well, you may colour the letters.’
‘A paint box,’ said Nevill, to Honor.
‘No, I can’t go and get one. Here are some crayons.’
‘That is better,’ said Miss Pilbeam. ‘There will be no mess. And you can make the letters coloured from the first.’
‘He will make them all coloured,’ said Nevill, looking round.
‘Let me hold your hand and make an a.’
‘A red a,’ said Nevill, putting his eyes, his mind and a good deal of his strength on the crayon.
‘A red a, a blue b, and a green c,’ said Miss Pilbeam, guiding his hand.
‘A is red, b is blue, and c is green,’ said Nevill, in a tone of grasp and progress.
‘It does not matter which colour each letter is.’
‘It does,’ said Nevill, suspecting an intention to smooth his path.
‘You can make each letter in any colour. You can have a green a, and a red b, and a blue c’
‘But always coloured,’ said Nevill.
‘No. Letters can be black.’
‘No, not black.’
‘Yes, that is what they generally are.’
‘Black,’ said Nevill, looking for a crayon of this kind.
‘You will never teach him anything,’ said Gavin.
‘It would have been better not to have colours,’ said Honor.
‘I shall teach him easily. He is very quick. You try to get on with your declensions,’ said Miss Pilbeam, implying that her confidence did not extend indefinitely.
‘Quick,’ said Nevill, pushing his crayon rapidly about.
‘No, that is not the way. You must make the letters as I showed you. Now we will make d.’
‘D is — pink,’ said Nevill, after a moment’s thought.
‘Yes, d can be pink.’
‘A is red, b is blue, c is green, and d is pink,’ said Nevill, in a tone of concluding the subject, preparing to get down from Miss Pilbeam’s knee.
‘No, I want you to make them all again.’
‘He will make them all again,’ said Nevill.
The lesson proceeded until Eleanor entered with some friends. She was accustomed to conduct her guests round the departments of her house, as she felt that in these lay the significance and the credit of her life. Nevill left Miss Pilbeam’s knee and ran to meet her.
‘A, b, c, d,’ he said, looking up towards her, as if he were not quite sure of the position of her face.
‘That is a clever boy. I am very pleased. So he has made a beginning, Miss Pilbeam.’
‘A, b, c, d,’ said Nevill, in a sharper tone, indicating the superfluity of the question.
‘You know it all, don’t you?’
‘He knows it all,’ said her son, with a faint sigh.
‘There are a lot more letters,’ said Miss Pilbeam, addressing her words to Nevill, and her tone to everybody else.
‘There are four,’ said her pupil.
‘No, there are a great many. You have learnt the four first ones.’
Nevill looked up with comprehension dawning in his eyes.