Howard woke early, after sweet and wild dreams of great landscapes and
rich adventures; as his thoughts took shape, he began to feel as if he
had passed some boundary yesterday; escaped, as a child escapes from a
familiar garden into great vague woodlands. There was his talk with
Mrs. Graves first--that had opened up for him a new region, indeed, of
the mind and soul, and had revealed to him an old force, perhaps long
within his grasp, but which he had never tried to use or wield. And the
vision too of Maud crossed his mind--a perfectly beautiful thing, which
had risen like a star. He did not think of it as love at all--that did
not cross his mind--it was just the thought of something enchantingly
and exquisitely beautiful, which disturbed him, awed him, threw his
mind off its habitual track. How extraordinarily lovely, simple, sweet,
the girl had seemed to him in the dim room, in the faint light; and how
fearless and frank she had been! He was conscious only of something
adorable, which raised, as beautiful things did, a sense of something
unapproachable, some yearning which could not be satisfied. How far
away, how faded and dusty his ordinary contented Cambridge life now
seemed to him!
He breakfasted alone, read a few letters which had been forwarded to
him, and went to the library. A few minutes later Miss Merry tapped at
the door, and came in.
"Mrs. Graves asked me to say--she was sorry she forgot to mention
it--that if you care for shooting or fishing, the keeper will come in
and take your orders. She thinks you might like to ask Jack to luncheon
and go out with him; she sends you her love, and wants you to do what
you like."
"Thank you very much!" said Howard, "I rather expect Jack will be round
here and I will ask him. I know he would like it, and I should too--if
you are sure Mrs. Graves approves."
"Oh, yes," said Miss Merry, smiling, "she always approves of people
doing what they like."
Miss Merry still hesitated at the door. "May I ask you another
question, Mr. Kennedy--I hope I am not troublesome--I wonder if you
could suggest some books for us to read? I read a good deal to Mrs.
Graves, and I am afraid we get rather into a groove. We ought to read
some of the new books; we want to know what people are saying and
thinking--we don't want to get behind."
"Why, of course," said Howard, "I shall be delighted--but I am afraid I
am not likely to be of much use; I don't read as much as I ought; but
if you will tell me the sort of things you care about, and what you
have been reading, we will try to make out a list. Won't you sit down
and see what we can do?"
"Oh, I don't like to interrupt you," said Miss Merry. "But if you would
be so kind."
She sat down at the far end of the table, and Howard was dimly and
amusedly conscious that this tete-a-tete was of the nature of a
romantic adventure to the little lady. He was surprised, when they came
to talk, to find how much they appeared to have read of a solid kind.
He asked if they had any plan.
"No, indeed," said Miss Merry, "we just wander on; one thing suggests
another. Mrs. Graves likes LONG books; she says she likes to get at a
subject quietly--that there ought not to be too many good things in
books; she likes them slow and spacious."
"I am afraid one has to go back a good way for that!" said Howard.
"People can't afford now to know more than a manual of a couple of
hundred pages can tell them about a subject. I can tell you some good
historical books, and some books of literary criticism and biography. I
can't do much about poetry or novels; and philosophy, science, and
theology I am no use at all for. But I could get you some advice if you
like. That's the best of Cambridge, there are so many people about who
are able to tell what to read."
While they were making out a list, Jack arrived breathlessly, and Miss
Merry shamefacedly withdrew. Howard said: "Perhaps that will do to go
on with--we will have another talk to-morrow. I begin to see the sort
of thing you want."
Jack was in a state of high excitement.
"What on earth were you doing," he said, as the door closed, "with that
sedate spinster?"
"We were making out a list of books!"
"Ah," said Jack with a profound air, "books are dangerous
things--that's the intellectual way of making love! You must be a great
excitement here, with all your ideas!--but now," he went on, "here I
am--I hurried back the moment breakfast was over. I have been horribly
bored--a lawn-tennis party yesterday, the females much to the
fore--it's no good that, it's not the game; at least it's not
lawn-tennis; it's a game all right, but I much suspect it has to do
with love-making rather than exercise."
"You seem very suspicious this morning," said Howard; "you accuse me of
flirting to begin with, and now you suspect lawn-tennis."
Jack shook his head. "I do hate love-making!" he said, "it spoils
everything--it gets in the way, and makes fools of people; the longer I
live, the more I see that most of the things that people do are excuses
for doing something else! But never mind that! I said I had got to get
back to be coached; I said that one of our dons was staying in the
village and had his eye on me. What I want to know is whether you have
made any arrangements about shooting or fishing? You said you would if
you could."
"The keeper is coming in," said Howard, "and we will have a talk to
him; but mind, on one condition--work in the morning, exercise in the
afternoon; and you are to stop to lunch."
"Cousin Anne is bursting into hospitality," said Jack, "because Maud is
coming in for the afternoon. I haven't had time to pump Maud yet about
you, but, by George, I'm going to pump you about her and father. Did
you have a very thick time last night? I could see father was rather
licking his lips."
"Now, no more chatter," said Howard; "you go and get some books, and we
will set to work at once." Jack nodded and fled.
When he came back the keeper was waiting, a friendly old man, who
seemed delighted at the idea of some sport. Jack said, "Look here, I
have arranged it all. Shooting to-day, and you can have father's gun;
he hardly ever uses it, and I have my own. Fishing to-morrow, and so on
alternately. There are heaps of rabbits up the valley--the place crawls
with them."
Howard taught Jack for an hour, as clearly and briskly as he could,
making him take notes. He found him quick and apt, and at the end, Jack
said, "Now if I could only do this every day at Cambridge, I should
soon get on. My word, you do do it well! It makes me shudder to think
of all the practice you must have had."
Howard set Jack down to prepare some further work by himself, and
attacked his own papers; and very soon it was time for lunch.
Mrs. Graves greeted Jack with much affectionateness, and asked what
they had arranged for the afternoon. Howard told her, and added that he
hoped she did not object to shooting.
"No, not at all," said Mrs. Graves, "if YOU can do it
conscientiously--I couldn't! As usual I am hopelessly inconsistent. I
couldn't kill things myself, but as long as I eat meat, I can't object.
It's no good arguing about these things. If one begins to argue about
destroying life, there are such excellent reasons for not eating
anything, or wearing anything, or even crossing the lawn! I have long
believed that plants are conscious, but we have got to exist somehow at
each other's expense. Instinct is the only guide for women; if they
begin to reason, they get run away with by reason; that is what makes
fanatics. I won't go so far as to wish you good sport, but you may as
well get all the rabbits you can; I'll send them round the village, and
try to salve my conscience so."
They talked a little about the books Howard had been recommending, but
Mrs. Graves was bent on making much of Jack.
"I don't get you here often by yourself," she said. "I daren't ask a
modern young man to come and see two old frumps--one old frump, I mean!
But I gather that you have views of your own, Jack, and some day I
shall try to get at them. I suppose that in a small place like this we
all know a great deal more about each other than we suspect each other
of knowing. What a comfort that we have tongues that we can hold! It
wouldn't be possible to live, if we knew that all the absurdities we
pride ourselves on concealing were all perfectly well known and
canvassed by all our friends. However, as long as we only enjoy each
other's faults, and don't go in for correcting them, we can get on. I
hope you don't DISAPPROVE of people, Jack! That's the hopeless
attitude."
"Well, I hate some people," said Jack, "but I hate them so much that it
is quite a pleasure to meet them and to think how infernal they are;
and when it's like that, I should be sorry if they improved."
"I won't go as far as that," said Howard. "The most I do is to be
thankful that their lack of improvement can still entertain me. One can
never be thankful enough for really grotesque people. But I confess I
don't enjoy seeing people spiteful and mean and vicious. I want to
obliterate all that."
"I want it to be obliterated," said Mrs. Graves; "but I don't feel
equal to doing it. Oh, well, we mustn't get solemn over it; that's the
mischief! But I mustn't keep you gentlemen from more serious
pursuits--'real things,' I believe, Jack?"
"Mr. Kennedy has been sneaking on me," said Jack. "I don't like to see
people mean and spiteful. It gives me pain. I want all that
obliterated."
"This is what happens to my pupils," said Howard. "Come on, Jack, you
shall not expose my methods like this."
They went off with the old keeper, who carried a bag of writhing
ferrets, and was accompanied by a boy with a spade and a line and a bag
of cartridges. As they went on, Jack catechised Howard closely.
"Did my family behave themselves?" he said. "Did you want them
obliterated? I expect you had a good pull at the Governor, but don't
forget he is a good chap. He is so dreadfully interested, but you come
to plenty of sense last of all. I admit it is last, but it's there.
It's no joke facing him if there's a row! he doesn't say much then, and
that makes it awful. He has a way of looking out of the window, if I
cheek him, for about five minutes, which turns me sick. Up on the top
he is a bit frothy--but there's no harm in that, and he keeps things
going."
"Yes," said Howard, "I felt that, and I may tell you plainly I liked
him very much, and thought him a thoroughly good sort."
"Well, what about Maud?" said Jack.
Howard felt a tremor. He did not want to talk about Maud, and he did
not want Jack to talk about her. It seemed like laying hands on
something sacred and secluded. So he said, "Really, I don't know as
yet--I only had one talk with her. I can't tell. I thought her
delightful; like you with your impudence left out."
"The little cat!" said Jack; "she is as impudent as they make them.
I'll be bound she has taken the length of your foot. What did she talk
about? stars and flowers? That's one of her dodges."
"I decline to answer," said Howard; "and I won't have you spoiling my
impressions. Just leave me alone to make up my mind, will you?"
Jack looked at him,--he had spoken sharply--nodded, and said, "All
right! I won't give her away. I see you are lost; but I'll get it all
out of you some time."
They were by this time some way up the valley. There were rabbit
burrows everywhere among the thickets. The ferrets were put in. Howard
and Jack were posted below, and the shooting began. The rabbits bolted
well, and Howard experienced a lively satisfaction, quite out of
proportion, he felt, to the circumstances, at finding that he could
shoot a great deal better than his pupil. The old knack came back to
him, and he toppled over his rabbits cleanly and in a masterly way.
"You are rather good at this!" said Jack. "Won't I blazon it abroad up
at Beaufort. You shall have all the credit and more. I can't see how
you always manage to get them in the head."
"It's a trick," said Howard; "you have got to get a particular swing,
and when you have got it, it's difficult to miss--it's only practice;
and I shot a good deal at one time."
Howard was unreasonably happy that afternoon. It was a still, sunny
day, and the steep down stretched away above them, an ancient English
woodland, with all its thorn-thickets and elder-clumps. It had been
like this, he thought, from the beginning of history, never touched by
the hand of man. The expectant waiting, the quick aim, the sudden shot,
took off the restlessness of his brain; and as they stood there, often
waiting for a long time in silence, a peculiar quality of peace and
contentment enveloped his spirit. It was all so old, so settled, so
quiet, that all sense of retrospect and prospect passed from his mind.
He was just glad to be alive and alert, glad of his friendly companion,
robust and strong. A few pictures passed before his mind, but he was
glad just to let his eyes wander over the scene, the steep turf
ramparts, the close-set dingles, the spring sunshine falling softly
over all, as the sun passed over and the shadows lengthened. At last a
ferret got hung up, and had to be dug out. Howard looked at his watch,
and said they must go back to tea. Jack protested in vain that there
was plenty of light left. Howard said they were expected back. They
left the keeper to recover the ferret, and went back quickly down the
valley. Jack was in supreme delight.
"Well, that's an honest way of spending time!" he said. "My word, how I
dangle about here; it isn't good for my health. But, by George, I wish
I could shoot like you, Mr. Kennedy, Sir."
"Why this sudden obsequiousness?" said Howard.
"Oh, because I never know what to call you," said Jack. "I can't call
you by your Christian name, and Mr. Kennedy seems absurd. What do you
like?"
"Whatever comes naturally," said Howard.
"Well, I'll call you Howard when we are together," said Jack. "But
mind, not at Beaufort! If I call you anything, it will have to be Mr.
Kennedy. I hate men fraternising with the Dons. The Dons rather
encourage it, because it makes them feel youthful and bucks them up.
The men are just as bad about Christian names. Gratters on getting your
Christian name, you know! It's like a girls' school. I wonder why
Cambridge is more like a girls' school than a public school is? I
suppose they are more sentimental. I do loathe that."
When they got back they found Maud at tea; she had been there all the
afternoon; she greeted Howard very pleasantly, but there was a touch of
embarrassment created by the presence of Jack, who regarded her
severely and called her "Miss."
"He's got some grudge against me," said Maud to Howard. "He always has
when he calls me Miss."
"What else should I call you?" said Jack; "Mr. Kennedy has been telling
me that one should call people by whatever name seems natural. You are
a Miss to-day, and no mistake. You are at some game or other!"
"Now, Jack, be quiet!" said Mrs. Graves; "that is how the British
paterfamilias gets made. You must not begin to make your womankind
uncomfortable in public. You must not think aloud. You must keep up the
mysteries of chivalry!"
"I don't care for mysteries," said Jack, "but I'll behave. My father
says one mustn't seethe the kid in its mother's milk. I will leave Miss
to her conscience."
"Did you enjoy yourself?" said Mrs. Graves to Howard.
"Yes, I'm afraid I did," said Howard, "very much indeed."
"Some book I read the other day," said Mrs. Graves, "stated that men
ought to do primeval things, eat under-done beef, sleep in their
clothes, drink too much, kill things. It sounds disgusting; but I
suppose you felt primeval?"
"I don't know what it was," said Howard. "I felt very well content."
"My word, he can shoot!" said Jack to Mrs. Graves; "I'm a perfect
duffer beside him; he shot four-fifths of the bag, and there's a
perfect mountain of rabbits to come in."
"Horrible, horrible!" said Mrs. Graves, "but are there enough to go
round the village?"
"Two apiece," said Jack, "to every man a damsel or two! Now, Maud, come
on--ten o'clock, to-morrow, Sir--and perhaps a little fishing later?"
"You had better stay to lunch, whenever you come and work in the
morning, Jack," said Mrs. Graves; "and I'll turn you inside out before
very long."
Howard went off to his work with a pleasant sense of the open air. They
dined together quietly; after dinner he went and sate down by Mrs.
Graves.
"Jack's a nice boy," she said, "very nice--don't make him pert!"
"I am afraid I shan't MAKE him anything," said Howard. "He will go his
own way, sure enough; but he isn't pert--he comes to heel, and he
remembers. He is like the true gentleman--he is never unintentionally
offensive."