“That may be partly what it is. We did not have time to get far. But I don’t think the friendships would go on, even if they were real at the time.”
“But they would do for the time. And that is what matters then. It is a pity we went to school, if we were not going to stay. It would have been better not to know about it.”
“Of course it is a pity. No one is in any doubt. Now we think Mother is odd and shabby; and Father is simple; and Miss Petticott is on the level of the matrons; and none of them is different from what they were. And they see us as children who would get things by cheating, if they could. They do not think of us in the same way. And that is hardly an enrichment of our family life.”
Sefton laughed and his sister continued.
“And we think Aldom is an awkward little manservant, and should be ashamed of his acting before the schools, though we used to be proud of it. We know he wanted to act today, and let him be disappointed. The girls would laugh at his village ideas. They laugh at so much and are ashamed of so much, and yet they are not so much in themselves; they do not even know so very much. It is only that they know it in a way that makes it count.”
“The boys are not as bad as they are.”
“Those boys are too young. Older boys would not be different. You will find it when you go to a larger school.”
“But that will not be for years.”
“No, for years things will be the same. And there are three hundred and sixty-five days in every year. We shall get used to Miss Petticott; we are getting used to her now. We shall stop being surprised at her ordinariness, and go back to trying less, and that will have its bright side. The schools will get further behind, and be just a thing to be remembered. We shall not even talk about them, as no one will know what we mean. I hardly think the people from them will come here again. Mother did not suggest it, though I could see it came into her mind. She will not say what may not be the truth. And it is no use to know people whom you are not to go on knowing. It is only feeling ashamed, and then having to be grateful; and the two things do not fit, and neither is any good—” Clemence started as the door opened, but relaxed on perceiving Oliver.
“I have come to ask how you are, after what you have been through. It seemed heartless to let you go to bed without a word of human kindness. The same blood flows in our veins.”
“We are just as usual. Perhaps we are rather tired.”
“You have a brave heart, Clemence.”
“Why should there be anything wrong with us?”
“Things might have been too much for you. Something might have snapped.”
Clemence and Sefton smiled.
“You will find what is graven on your hearts. You will never face a greater demand. You have never faced one as great.”
The children raised their eyes.
“Except on the day of your exposure. I was speaking of the normal range of life. And that had the advantage of not being regarded as a festive occasion.”
“It had no others,” said Clemence.
“Did the girls admire you for having me for a brother?”
“Yes, I think they did. You are different from most brothers.”
“The boys did not seem to,” said Sefton. “You had been a master at their school. They don’t admire anyone who is that.”
“The girls thought it was a joke,” said Clemence.
“Didn’t you tell them it was?” said Sefton.
“It was a wise and brave word,” said Oliver. “Did they think Maria’s dress was a joke, or did they know it was worn in earnest?”
“It was the one she wore on the day she took me to school.”
“Further words would add nothing. But yours was not the same?”
“Yes,” said Clemence, almost smiling. “And it had been altered.”
“And we wonder if you ought to return! Things had to happen to prevent it.”
“Well, they happened,” said Clemence. “And the same dress might be packed. It would be.”
“So we stop at nothing,” said Oliver. “And you could only do the same.”
“Are other people as ashamed as we are?” said Sefton.
“If they wear the same clothes, and if their mothers wear the same ones, and order economical households. Those are grounds for shame.”
“I suppose it is really false shame.”
“That is what it is called. It is shame in its strongest form.”
“The economy did not show much today,” said Clemence.
“No, Maria is hospitable. But she has not the right kind of pride, not the kind that is really the wrong kind. We could never rely on her. We can only hide our heads at home. Homes cause the shame, but they also provide a hiding-place for it, and we have to take one thing with another.”
“You would hardly think homes would be so fair,” said Clemence.
“No, we see the claim they have on us. And anyhow they impose it. You see life whole, Clemence. I leave you with a heavy heart, but with an easy mind.”
“I suppose the same words would apply to us,” said his sister, as the door closed.
“Well, anyhow, we have nothing to dread now,” said Sefton. “Everything seems to be over.”
“That is what it is. There is nothing left. Nothing good, nothing bad, nothing to dread, nothing to hope for. Nothing.”
“Really, Clemence, that is a needlessly negative view to take of life,” said Miss Chancellor’s voice at the door. “I think you might manage to be a little more on the positive side.”
“Oh, we still have Aldom!” said Sefton. “He will always be here. He almost seems to be given back to us.”
“He heard the talk downstairs. He knows as much as we do now. He may soon know more. Things in his mind seem to grow.”
Maria and Miss Petticott, coming upstairs, heard sounds of laughter and paused.
“What is it?” said Maria.
“Relief, Lady Shelley. Relief that the aftermath of school is over, and home life stretches before them in happiness and peace. That is what it is.”