‘It has come to be observed as a local one, sir.’
‘Do you want to go gallivanting with the rest?’
‘I am familiar with our exhibits, sir. If the others are inferior, why see them? And if superior, we may want to see them even less.’
‘Ours are hardly up to standard this year.’
‘For a reason that need not be discussed, sir,’ said Ainger, as if this would be a needless breach of convention.
‘The want of another gardener? We cannot afford a second. We might perhaps have a boy.’
‘I doubt if William has the tolerance, sir.’
‘Do you find that yours is taxed?’
‘Well, I am inured, sir.’
‘And William will become so, if I wish it.’
‘We cannot add a cubit to our stature, sir.’
‘There are several boys without work in the village.’
‘We do not want Master Toby among them, sir,’ said Ainger, with a smile.
‘So your hours will be empty today,’ said Mr Clare to his son.
The latter just glanced at him and leaned his head on his hand.
‘Accounts,’ he said, in a just audible tone.
‘The library will be ready, sir,’ said Ainger.
‘I have said it is always to be so.’
‘The desk and the writing materials were my reference, sir.’
‘And the ledgers and rent accounts,’ said Cassius, still supporting his head. ‘I shall want them at my hand.’
‘That is their situation, sir.’
‘How are you passing your time, Flavia?’ said Cassius.
‘I shall be doing the usual things.’
‘And is that an answer?’
‘Housekeeping, letters, gardening,’ said Flavia, putting her own head on her hand and echoing his tone.
‘Smoking, newspapers, dozing,’ said Mr Clare, more lightly.
Cassius appeared not to see or hear.
‘Wine-cellar, silver, sideboard, sir,’ said Ainger, in a tone of coming to his master’ said. ‘Arrears accumulate as soon as effort fluctuates.’
‘How about the wine from London?’ said Cassius.
‘It is still in London, as far as I am informed, sir.’
‘When did you write for it, Cassius?’ said Flavia.
‘I cannot be sure of the exact day.’
‘Did you write at all?’ said his father. ‘It is a thing that would be hard for you.’
‘Then it would be natural if I did not write.’
‘And it is natural that the wine has not come,’ said his wife.
‘Can I indite the order for you, sir?’ said Ainger.
‘Well, you may copy the rough draft on my desk, if I have omitted to do so.’
‘The one I dictated, sir? I do not need to recapitulate. My memory is one of my characteristics.’
‘You have not been active in the matter, my boy,’ said Mr Clare.
Cassius leaned back in his chair, active in nothing.
‘Are you not yourself today? Or are you too much so?’
‘We are all too much ourselves at breakfast,’ said Cassius, looking round the table to encounter proof of this. ‘I don’t think there are exceptions.’
‘No, no, you are a person apart.’
‘I have felt that for a long time.’
‘We all have to get used to it,’ said Flavia, ‘and it has its own comfort.’
‘We live at such different levels,’ said her husband.
‘But always at a deep one ourselves. When someone else is bereaved, we always say how easily he has got over it.’
‘I think of my mother every day,’ said Cassius; ‘my dear mother whose sympathy flowed from her. Perhaps she taught me to expect too much.’
‘She did so,’ said Mr Clare, ‘and you learned it from her. A woman with one son may serve him in that way. It was a simple case.’
‘I don’t know why you want so much sympathy,’ said Flavia.
‘No?’ said Cassius, resting his eyes on her.
‘You are not an unfortunate man.’
‘No?’
‘Upon my word I don’t know what the trouble is,’ said Mr Clare.
‘There is no trouble,’ said Flavia, ‘and we should not make, one. There are enough and to spare.’
‘A truism,’ said her husband.
‘They are generally true.’
‘They sometimes have a modicum of truth. I suppose that is what you mean.’
‘No, I meant what I said. That is what you mean yourself.’
‘I have never had to make troubles,’ said Cassius. ‘My share has come to me.’
‘So you have been spared the pains,’ said his father. ‘And I do not know why you should take them.’
‘I have had rather trials than troubles,’ said Flavia.
‘You must be glad of that,’ said Cassius, in a cordial tone. ‘And we are glad for you.’
‘Trials have a way of being more continuous. They are more involved in ordinary life. They stand less by themselves.’
‘They are woven into life,’ said Cassius, dreamily, ‘a part of its warp and woof. You would not be prepared for that. We must not look for experience from those who have not had it.’
‘Is mine any good to you this morning?’ said his father. ‘I have had enough, and it is at your service.’
‘I shall be glad to be with you when my work is done. Flavia has her companionship.’
‘What do you know about my plans for the day?’ said his wife.
‘Know about them?’ said Cassius, looking up with a faint frown. ‘There is nothing to know, is there? They are stereotyped.’
‘And in what way?’
‘Well, either you will go to your friend or she will come to you. Is there any alternative?’
‘Are you speaking of the boys’mother?’
‘Flavia, that is going too far,’ said Cassius, almost laughing.
‘There are other people in my life.’
Her husband raised his brows.
‘You forget that I have children myself.’
‘I may sometimes do so, now that there is less to remind me of it, now you are focused on one point.’
‘You know less about me than you think.’
Cassius sent his eyes over her and did not endorse this.
‘I do not claim to know everything about you.’
‘Well, no, I suppose not,’ said Cassius, with a faint sound of amusement.
‘And I should have thought you were the easier to judge.’
Cassius laughed outright.
‘People talk of our seeing ourselves as others see us,’ said Mr Clare. ‘It is the way we ourselves do so, that should concern them.’
‘Especially when we make it clear,’ said Cassius, looking at his wife with another tremble of mirth.
‘This is not sincere talk,’ she said.
‘Is it not?’ said her husband. ‘It is honest of you to admit it.’
‘You are a sophist, my boy,’ said Mr Clare.
‘Well, is breakfast at an end?’ said Cassius, rising from the table, and seeming to chance to push his full cup into view. ‘If so, I will go to the library.’
‘Breakfast has not begun for Cassius,’ said Flavia, as the door closed. ‘But what are we to do?’
‘Nothing, my dear. Nothing can be done. We are helpless in the matter.’
‘I wonder how much he suffers in these moods.’
‘We can only know what we do. We can learn no more.’
‘I always feel I ought to be able to prevent them.’
‘I have felt the same. But we rank ourselves too high. We cannot be of use.’
‘What Cassius needs is a perfect wife. I see what it would do for him. But perfection might do a good deal for many of us. It may be too simple a view.’
‘It is not only the complex that is true. We all need perfection in other people, and might be the better for it.’
‘I attempted the impossible in marrying him. Or do I mean something beyond me?’
‘You may mean them both. Cassius stands as what he is. He offers no revised version of himself.’