“Do you want us to come and help you?”
“No, my grandmother would like me to do it myself,” said Amy, fearing filial behaviour in Hamilton, and knowing she must always fear it.
“Here is an arresting sight,” he said to his mother, “and I should hazard not a common one. The two headmistresses standing together in conference.”
“This is my little grand-daughter,” said Jocasta, ushering Amy forward, with a feeling that an introduction might be effected, as one seemed to be needed. “I daresay you will find you really know her.”
“No, I shall not. I find I do not,” said Miss Murdoch, smiling at Amy. “Knowledge comes with — what shall I say? — with knowledge. When she reaches my form it will come to us, the knowledge of each other. Meanwhile I will not pretend to it. It is not our custom to pretend.”
Jocasta did not disagree.
“I know her by sight. I see her when I go through the classes,” said Hermia, also smiling at Amy. “I can go so far without pretence.”
“And she has seen you,” said Hamilton. “And given us an impression of you as far as her powers permit.”
“Ah, the powers will grow,” said Miss Murdoch. “They will grow as she does, with her, in her, within her range. We are not afraid there will not be growth. It does not fail us.”
“It would not do so often. And it does its work without help,” said Jocasta, keeping all expression out of her tone.
“Ah, I have said the simple thing. But we do not reject the simple. It is where the truth may lie, and we do not reject the truth.”
“At the risk of being simple myself,” said Hamilton, as if this was a graver hazard, “I will voice a passing thought. What a pleasure to see the young in holiday garb and mood!”
“Ah, fine feathers do their work. And why should they not? It is what they have to do. The reality is underneath. We get to know the reality.”
“And it is a chance to show the feathers,” said Jocasta. “Amy was quite moved by seeing her dress brought out. She had thought and felt about it. And she does not usually care about her clothes.”
Amy looked aside as if she did not hear, and almost succeeded in not allowing herself to do so.
“Ah, but we should care about everything. It all has its interest, and should all be given it. Indifference is not one of the good things. It must not go through her life.”
Amy did not reflect that it need only go through her grandmother’s, as the end of the latter receded with every thought of it.
“But the interest will come with time and growth, and the power of choice. This is the stage for simple needs and the simple means to meet them.”
“Yes, Amy’s needs are of the simplest,” said Jocasta, meaning to utter an ordinary word, and actually uttering an innocent one. “She has never had any money of her own. She would not understand what to do with it. She hardly knows there is such a thing.”
Amy looked down and rubbed one foot against the other, using the appearance of a minor discomfort to cover a greater one.
“You might bring your friends to talk to me, Amy. It seems I ought to know them. I never understand why I don’t,” said Jocasta, unable to feel the matter had been explained to her.
“Oh, they are busy to-day, Grannie. They all have relations here.”
“Well, so have you. And they are not tied to them any more than you are.”
“Well, some of them seem to be,” said Amy, with a shrug and a sigh.
“I might seek an introduction myself in my avuncular character,” said Hamilton, unaware that it was his no longer.
“Grannie, Miss Murdoch and Miss Heriot are moving away. Do you want to say any more to them?”
“You must be glad of each other’s support,” said Jocasta, turning to the partners. “There is a great deal to discuss and decide at a time of change like this.”
“What was it that someone said?” said Miss Murdoch. “Someone who had a right to say it. ‘There is something a wise man knows. Change is never for the better.’”
“A wiser man would know more,” said Hermia. “What of the reforms of the past? We can’t say they were anything but what they were. Conscious change is seldom for the worse. There would be no reason for making it. Its object is the bettering of things.”
“Ah, what is better? There is the rub, the question that is not answered, the uncertain thing. Is it what seems good to ourselves, perhaps does good? That is what it is?”
“It may be at times. We must judge as we can. It is anyhow better than what seems harmful to ourselves and perhaps does harm.”
“I say nothing myself,” said Hamilton. “I should not dare to enter the lists with two such able contestants. I will leave my mother in the field.”
“Change has to come,” said Jocasta. “Though I may be too old to judge of it. This may be the place for it. It is for youth and a school is for the young. Perhaps it should not look too like itself. It may be better disguised.”
“It is better still in the open,” said Hermia. “If a thing is good it should stand the light. It should seek it and appear as itself, as what it is.”
“As you do,” said Hamilton, in a low tone. “You appear as yourself, as what you are. An exile from your own world and an alien in this. You have the strength to stand alone. It could not be said of many.”
“It can scarcely be said of me. It needs more strength than I know. I am more alone than I thought to be. I tried and failed to live with nothing, and it is again before me. I hardly dare to look forward.”
“A house divided against itself,” said Hamilton, still speaking to her. “It cannot stand.”
“It is true. The slow death will go on. I am losing hope.”
“I do not lose it for you. You are young, or young to me. There will be another future.”
“There are not so many. For me there was the one. I strove for it and gained it, and it is gone.”
Hermia moved away, unwilling to go further with Hamilton, and the voices round them went on.
“Does your grandmother spoil you, Amy? People are supposed to spoil their grand-children.”
“Oh, I daresay she does in a sense,” said Amy, in a light tone.
“In what way does she spoil you?”
“Oh, everyone does that in a different way,” said Amy, aware that Jocasta’s method must appear as her own.
“You didn’t have a dress for the school play. And it meant you couldn’t take part in it.”
“Oh, yes, there was a touch of spoiling there. That was an escape indeed.”
“And you didn’t subscribe very much to Miss Murdoch’s Christmas present.”
“Oh, I don’t suppose Grannie wants to spoil Miss Murdoch,” said Amy, with a little laugh. “I think she rather despises her for keeping a school.”
“Wouldn’t you really rather be more like everyone else?”
“Oh, there are plenty of people to be that. There is no harm in a few exceptions.”
“I am glad I am not an exception,” said a reflective child, judging the role to be beyond her.
“Why do you not come to see Amy sometimes?” said Jocasta to the girls. “I should like to see her friends about the house. She must not let shyness prevent her asking you. You could sit in the garden and have tea in the schoolroom afterwards. There can be nothing against it.”
Amy summoned a smile to her lips at the mention of this prospect, and stood with it hovering over them.
“If I am apprised of the date of the visit I will endeavour to be present,” said Hamilton, “and to efface the indefinite impression I have perforce produced to-day.”
The girls responded to his smile, and startled his niece who was not prepared for a normal acceptance of him.