‘Have Mr and Mrs Clare been together this morning?’
‘Yes, for a time, but old Mr Clare was with them.’
‘And that prevented trouble?’ said Fabian.
‘Why, what trouble should there be?’ said Miss Ridley.
‘There should not be any, but there would have been. You know what has happened.’
‘Why, things happen every day, Fabian.’
‘This has not happened for nine years. My own mother has returned to the place. You must know that.’
‘Well, I believe I had heard something about it.’
‘You are right in your belief, as it is likely you would be. You would hardly be the only person not to hear.’
‘It is nothing for you to think about,’ said Bennet, in an easy tone that was belied by her eyes.
‘It is the only thing. What would anyone think about in our place?’
‘You have your mother here.’
‘We have our stepmother.’
‘What is a real mother like?’ said Guy.
‘Like Mater to her own children,’ said his brother.
‘You know that no difference is made,’ said Miss Ridley.
‘The difference is there. There is no need to make it.’
‘Are all fathers like our father?’ said Guy.
‘No father is like him,’ said Fabian. ‘We have no normal parent.’
‘He is devoted to you in his way,’ said Miss Ridley.
‘I daresay a cat does the right thing to a mouse in its way.’
‘Doing things in your own way is not really doing them,’ said Megan.
‘Why, Fabian, what a conscious way of talking!’ said Miss Ridley. ‘And it leads the others to copy you.’
‘Why should I talk like a child, when my life prevents me from being one?’
‘Would having a real mother make us more childish?’ said Guy.
‘That would hardly be desirable in your case,’ said Miss Ridley. ‘You are inclined to be behind your age. And you could not have a stepmother who was more like a real mother.’
‘And we could not have one who was like one,’ said Fabian.
‘You know that every effort is made for you.’
‘Of course we know. Everyone is at pains to tell us. And we can see it being made, as they can.’
‘Suppose it was not made? That Would be the thing to mind.’
‘But perhaps not to mind so much.’
‘Oh, dear, oh, dear!’ said Henry.
‘Whatever is it?’ said Miss Ridley.
‘They haven’t anything,’ said Henry, indicating his brothers. ‘Not even as much as we have.’
‘Now really, you are ungrateful children. You have a beautiful home and every care and kindness. It would do you good to have to face some real trouble.’
‘You know it would do us harm,’ said Henry.
‘I cannot think what has come over you.’
‘Then you cannot think at all,’ said Fabian. ‘But I daresay that is the case. A good many people can’t.’
Guy and Megan laughed.
‘And you are one of the fortunate ones who can?’ said Miss Ridley, using a dry tone.
‘I am one of the unfortunate ones who do. That is how I should put it.’
‘It is perhaps rather a bold claim.’
‘It is not a claim. It is merely a statement of fact.’
‘If you know things, of course you think about them,’ said Megan. ‘Or you wouldn’t really know them.’
‘You should not say these things before the little ones,’ said Miss Ridley to Fabian. ‘Especially if you are a person who thinks. Or do you not think about them?’
‘Why should I? They have enough people to do it.’
‘Henry, do get up from that log,’ said Bennet, giving matters a lighter tone. ‘What an uncomfortable seat!’
‘Not enough to make you forget anything,’ said Henry, as if it had failed in its purpose.
‘Have we had to bear more than other children?’ said Guy. ‘I mean Fabian and me.’
‘Now what have you had to bear?’ said Miss Ridley. ‘Try to tell me one thing.’
‘He doesn’t mean hunger and cold like children in books,’ said Henry. ‘But they are not the only things.’
‘Why are Sunday books sadder than others?’ said Megan. ‘It seems to be making it the worst day on purpose. And it is supposed to be the best.’
‘Now do you not find it so?’ said Miss Ridley.
‘Only because it is a holiday. Any other day would be better.’
‘It need not be worse than other days,’ said Fabian. ‘The reasons are man-made. Our religion is a gloomy one. There are other and happier creeds.’
‘Oh, hush, you know there is the one true one,’ said Bennet, in an automatic manner, not moving her eyes.
‘It is a pity it is so sad,’ said Guy. ‘It has to mean that life is sad, when religion goes through life.’
‘Now surely you can think of something pleasant,’ said Miss Ridley.
‘You admit that religion is not that,’ said Fabian.
‘Now I knew you would take me up on that, Fabian. I knew it the moment the words were out of my mouth. Of course it has its solemn side. Its very depth and meaning involve that. We should not wish it otherwise.’
‘Well, people do like gloom. It prevents other people from being happy.’
‘But surely they do not wish that.’
‘They seem to go through life wishing it. They think happiness is wrong.’
‘Or they think it is too pleasant,’ said Megan, ‘and so don’t want other people to have it.’
‘My dear child, what reason can you have for saying such a thing?’
‘That I am not one of those who have eyes and see not, ears and hear not, and seeing do not perceive,’ said Megan, twisting round on one leg.
‘I am afraid you are conceited children.’
‘Everyone is conceited. It is only that some people pretend not to be. People can’t always despise themselves, and there might not be any reason.’
‘I daresay they could generally find one,’ said Fabian.
‘If they want to prevent people’s happiness, they certainly could,’ said Miss Ridley.
‘Miss Ridley is conceited,’ said Henry, in an expressionless tone.
‘What am I conceited about, Henry?’
‘About your brain and your learning.’
‘I wonder if I am,’ said Miss Ridley, consenting to turn attention to herself. ‘I hardly think so, Henry. About my brain I certainly am not. It is of the strong and useful kind, but no more. In learning I have gone further than I expected.’
Miss Ridley had obtained a degree, a step whose mystic significance for a woman was accepted at that date even by those who had taken it. It rendered her equal to the instruction of male youth, and accounted for her presence in the family.
Eliza came towards them, calling out to Bennet tidings that were worth announcing from afar.
‘He was asleep in a minute. He was fractious because he was tired.’
‘Dear little boy!’ said Miss Ridley.
‘Is there anything endearing in being asleep?’ said Fabian. ‘Not that it is not better than screaming on the ground.’
‘People are always glad when babies go to sleep,’ said Henry. ‘They can stop thinking about them. They take too much thought.’
‘You don’t deserve to have a baby brother,’ said Miss Ridley.
‘Well, we did not want one.’
‘I remember how excited you were when he came.’
‘But not when he stayed,’ said Megan, smiling. ‘Not when he had always to be there.’
‘I was never excited at all,’ said Henry. ‘I knew he would have to stay. I knew it wouldn’t be Megan and me any longer.’
‘I am afraid that is a selfish point of view.’
‘All points of view are selfish,’ said Megan. ‘They are the way people look at things themselves. So they must be.’