“But she is clever at her books, Adela,” said Maud.
“Clever at her books,” murmured Verity, in mockery of Maud’s adaptation of herself.
“She can be that at home miss, as she always had been. It did not come from leaving it.”
“What a lovely view!” said Esther, going to the window. “We should like to see the park, Clemence.”
“Esther, that suggestion should have come from Clemence,” said Verity, in the tones of Maud.
“I will have Miss Clemence ready in a moment, miss.”
Clemence stood to be dressed, as though used to doing nothing for herself, regardful of Adela’s conception of a girl attended by her maid, but feeling that the clothes modified it to one of a child and a nurse. Then she accepted the arms of her companions and descended the stairs. They walked with linked arms about the park, now and then catching a glimpse of the boys, but showing no wish to advance on it. Clemence held herself uneasily, fearful of eyes at the windows. The gulf between the words of school and home, the ignorance in each of the other, made her wonder she had ever thought she could live between them. Exhaustion was superseding excitement, and she found herself longing for the end of the day.
“I suppose you know every inch of this park, Clemence?” said Verity.
“Well, all the separate parts of it. It is different at different times of the year. It is best in spring and autumn.”
“I think I like the country in the winter best,” said Maud.
“I wonder how often that is true,” said Verity. “It sounds a thing worth saying for the sake of saying it.”
“It is true in my case, Verity, or I should not have said it.”
“What time is really the best, Clemence?” said Esther.
“I think, myself, the spring. Then it changes every day. In the winter it is always the same.”
“You are a happy creature, Clemence,” said Gwendolen, causing Clemence a sense of surprise. “The house and the park, and your father and brother, and your mother and Miss Petticott. It must be perfect, mustn’t it, Maud?”
“Well, talking of perfection, Gwendolen, I should say that the last item, if I may use such a word, is the dubious one. The sameness in the education is perhaps the weak point.”
“Of course you may not use the word. Miss Petticott is not an item.”
“That was surely unworthy of you, Maud,” said Verity.
“Never mind, Maud,” said Esther. “There are times when self-approval must be enough.”
“I did not know that such a feeling came into the matter, Esther.”
“I must stop you all and fasten my coat,” said Gwendolen. “Adela does not take as much care of me as she does of Clemence.”
“Clemence must have found it odd, when she came to school, to do things for herself,” said Esther.
“Well, she has soon forgotten again,” said Verity.
“Oh, Adela does not always fuss over me like that. She was making an impression on guests. And it does not make much difference, with my kind of dressing.”
“Why do you have a special kind?” said Esther.
“Oh, I do not know. I did not know I had until I went to school. I think it is a sort of family custom.”
“You knew you had those, when you came to school,” said Esther.
“The shabbiness of a duchess!” said Verity. “I will not emulate it until I become one.”
“Clemence made no such implication,” said Maud.
“It is odd to see Miss Firebrace in the house,” said Esther. “I wonder how she likes not being deferred to by everyone.”
“I should always just defer to her,” said Gwendolen.
“That is what I did this time,” said Clemence. “It was easier not to change.”
“And the difference in your age and position does give a certain basis to the relation,” said Maud. “Though an assumption of general deference might be the danger of a situation like hers.”
“Was there any mention of what happened at school, Clemence?” said Esther, with more than her usual suddenness.
“Oh, it was in the atmosphere at first. But it soon passed off. School is only school, after all. And I suppose that was what was felt.”
“I should hardly have thought that implication was in place, Clemence,” said Maud. “About your father I cannot say, as we talked of other things, but your mother seemed interested in education, and anxious for your success.”
“Oh, yes, she has a serious mind in her way. In a sense she is ambitious for us, though it is difficult to know what she wants. She does not seem to know, herself. She had Miss Firebrace thrust upon her as a ready-made relation, and that did not prejudice her in favour of what she represents. She has made every effort to get over the bias, and with a good deal of success; she does not show it, as you say. But one term of school for us was enough for her. It was easy to see that.”
“It sounds as if an afternoon with Miss Chancellor might make it all too much,” said Verity.
“Oh, I think she likes talking to Miss Chancellor. That easy, obvious intellectualism is just the thing. Not that it would be, if she had had different opportunities, because it would not.”
“You never used to strike that disparaging note about Miss Chancellor at school, Clemence,” said Maud. “And as you have not seen her since you left, it can hardly have much foundation.”
“It is seeing her suddenly with people outside the school. It seems to show her as she is.”
“Do we all stand exposed in this merciless light?” said Verity.
“Well, I had not seen you in it before. But then neither had you seen me with my family. We all know more about each other now. These things are the same on both sides.”
“I am frightened,” said Gwendolen. “Clemence has a hidden self.”
“Which would you put higher as an educationist, Clemence, Miss Petticott or Miss Chancellor?” said Maud, in an even tone.
“Oh, the dear old Petticoat! I do not compare her with other people. She is just herself.”
“We honour you for the sentiment,” said Verity.
“Maud, are you honouring Clemence?” said Gwendolen.
“I am a most appreciative guest, Gwendolen. But this is a matter by itself. You made a great advance when you came under Miss Chancellor, Clemence. Are you taking that into account?”
“Yes, but not too much. It was more than I should have made, if I had not had the foundation. That rather points to something in Miss Petticott.”
“When things are pointed to, ought we to see them?” said Verity.
“No, of course not. Not in Miss Petticott’s case. None of you would see anything about her at first. No ordinary person would.”
“I can’t help my own nature,” said Gwendolen, giggling. “I find I like Maud to be called ordinary. I wish I were a better girl.”
“I have no objection to being included in that category, Gwendolen.”
“Oh, nonsense, everyone has,” said Verity. “How Clemence does despise us all! No wonder she wanted to leave the school. I wonder she asked us here today. I suppose she imagined that her better nature would triumph.”
“I do think you want a good deal of appreciation of yourselves and the school.”
“I like a little for myself,” said Gwendolen. “And I somehow feel I am having it. I think Clemence is one of those good hostesses who attend to the wants of their guests without seeming to do so.”
“Did your father mind what happened to you at school, Clemence?” said Esther.
“Oh, he seemed to think it was a natural thing. He said it always happened when he was a boy. He seemed to see it as quite ordinary.”
“I know who your grandfather is,” said Gwendolen. “I mean the man who is not your grandfather. I am not too stupid to understand. And I was beginning to think I was.”
“I was beginning to think you all were,” said Clemence.