The Vicarage was a pleasant house, with an air of comfort and moderate
wealth about it. It was part of Frank Sandys' sense, thought Howard,
that he was content to live so simple and retired a life. He did not
often absent himself, even for a holiday. Howard was shown into the
study which Mr. Sandys had improved and enlarged. It was a big room,
with an immense, perfectly plain deal table in the middle, stained a
dark brown; and the Vicar showed Howard with high glee how each of the
four sides of the table was consecrated to a different avocation. "My
accounts end!" he said, "my sermon side! my correspondence end! my
genealogical side!" There were a number of small dodges, desks for
holding books, flaps which could be let up and down, slits in the table
through which papers could be dropped into drawers, a cord by which the
bell could be rung without rising from his place, a cord by which the
door could be bolted. "Not very satisfactory, that last," said the
Vicar, "but I am on the track of an improvement. The worst of it is,"
said the good man, "that I have so little time. I make extracts from
the books I read for my sermons, I cut out telling anecdotes from the
papers. I like to raise questions every now and then in the Guardian,
and that lets me in for a lot of correspondence. I even, I must
confess, sometimes address questions to important people about their
public utterances, and I have an interesting volume of replies, mostly
from secretaries. Then I am always at work on my Somersetshire
genealogies, and that means a mass of letters. The veriest trifles, of
course, they will seem to a man like yourself; but I fail in mental
grasp--I keep hammering away at details; that is my line; and after all
it keeps one alert and alive. You know my favourite thesis--it is touch
with human nature that I value, and I am brought into contact with many
minds. I don't exaggerate the importance of my work, but I enjoy it;
and after all, that is the point! I daresay it would be more dignified
if I pretended to be a disappointed man," said the Vicar, with a smile
which won Howard's heart, "but I am not--I am a very happy man, as busy
as the fabled bee! I shouldn't relish a change. There was some
question, I may tell you, at one time, of my becoming Archdeacon, but
it was a relief to me when it was settled and when Bedington was
appointed. I woke up in the morning, I remember, the day after his
appointment was announced, and I said to myself--'Why, it's a relief
after all!' I don't mean that I shouldn't have enjoyed it, but it would
have meant giving up some part of my work. I really have the life I
like, and if my dear wife had been spared to me, I should be the
happiest of men; but that was not to be--and by the way, I must
recollect to show you some of her drawings. But I must not inflict all
this upon you--and by the way," said the Vicar, "Mrs. Graves did me the
honour of telling me yesterday her intentions with regard to yourself,
and I told her I was heartily glad to hear it. It is an immense thing
for the place to have some one who will look into things a little, and
bring a masculine mind to bear on our simple problems. For myself, it
will be an untold gain to be brought in touch with a more intellectual
atmosphere. I foresee a long perspective of stimulating discussions. I
will venture to say that you will be warmly welcomed here, and indeed
you seem quite one of us already. But now we must go and get our
luncheon--we have much to discuss; and you will not mind Maud being
present, I know; the children are devoted to each other, and though I
have studied their tastes and temperaments very closely, yet 'crabbed
age and youth' you know, and all that--she will be able, I think, to
cast some light on our little problem."
They went together into the drawing-room, a pleasant old-fashioned
room--"a temple of domestic peace," said the Vicar, "a pretty phrase of
Carlyle's that! Maud has her own little sitting-room--the old
schoolroom in fact--which she will like to show you. I think it very
necessary that each member of a family should if possible have a
sanctum, a private uninvaded domain--but in this room the separate
strains unite."
Maud was sitting near the window when the two came in. She got up and
came quickly forward, with a smile, and shook hands with Howard. She
had just the same look of virginal freshness and sweetness in the
morning light--a little less mysterious, perhaps; but there came upon
Howard a strange feeling, partly of intense admiration, partly a sort
of half-jealousy that he should know so little of the girl's past, and
a half-terror of all other influences and relations in the unknown
background of her life. He wanted to know whom and what she cared
about, what her hopes were, what her thoughts rested upon and concerned
themselves with. He had never felt any such emotion before, and it was
not wholly agreeable to him. He felt thrown off his balance, interfered
with, diverted from his normal course. He wanted to do and say
something which could claim her attention and confidence; and the frank
and almost sisterly regard she gave him was not wholly to his mind.
This was mingled, too, with a certain fear of he knew not what; he
feared her criticism, her disapproval; he felt his own dulness and
inelasticity. He seemed to himself empty, heavy, awkward, disconcerted
by her quiet and expectant gaze. This came and went like a flash, and
gave him an almost physical uneasiness.
"Well, here we are," said the Vicar. "I must say this is very
comfortable--a sort of family council, with matters of importance to
discuss." Maud led the way to the dining-room. "I said we would have
everything put on the table," said the Vicar, "and wait on ourselves;
that will leave us quite free to talk. It's not a lack of any respect,
Howard--quite the contrary; but these honest people down here pick up
all sorts of gossip--in a quiet life, you know, a little gossip goes a
long way; and even my good maids are human--I should be so in their
place! Howard, a bit of this chicken--our own chickens, our own
vegetables, our country cider--everything home-grown; and now to
business, and we will settle Master Jack in a turn. My own belief is,
in choosing a profession, to think of all possibilities and eliminate
them one by one."
"Yes," said Howard, "but we are met by this initial difficulty; that
one might settle a dozen professions for Jack, and there is not the
smallest guarantee that he would choose any of them. I think he will
take his own line. I never knew anyone who knew so definitely what he
intended to do, and what he did not intend to do!"
"You have hit it," said the Vicar, "and I do not think you could have
said anything which could please me more. He is independent; it is my
own temperament over again! You will forgive a touch of vanity, Howard,
but that is me all over. And that simplifies our plan of action very
considerably, you know!"
"Yes," said Howard, "it undoubtedly does. I have no doubt from what
Jack told me that he intends to make money. It isn't, in him, just the
vague desire to have the command of money, which most young men have. I
have to talk over their careers with a good many young men, and it
generally ends in their saying they would like a secretaryship, which
would give them interesting work and long holidays and the command of
much of their time, and lead on to something better, with a prospect of
early retirement on a pension."
The Vicar laughed loudly at this. "Excellent!" he said, "a very human
view; that's a real bit of human nature."
"But Jack," said Howard, "isn't like that. He enjoys his life and gets
what fun out of it he can; but he thinks Cambridge a waste of time. I
don't know any young man who is so perfectly clear that he wants real
work. He is not idle as many young men are idle, prolonging the easy
days as long as they can. He is an extraordinary mixture; he enjoys
himself like a schoolboy, and yet he wants to get to work."
"Well, I think that a very encouraging picture!" said the Vicar; "there
is something very sensible about that. I confess I have mostly seen the
schoolboy side of Jack, and it delights one to know that there is a
serious side! Let us hear what Maud thinks; this kind of talk is really
very enjoyable."
"Yes," said Maud, looking up. "I am sure that Mr. Kennedy is quite
right. I believe that Jack would like to go into an office to-morrow."
"There," said the Vicar, "you see she agrees with you. It is really a
pleasure to find oneself mistaken. I confess I had not discerned this
quality in Jack; he had seemed to me much set on amusement."
"Oh yes," said Howard, "he likes his fun, and he is active enough; but
it is all passing the time."
"Well, this is really most satisfactory," said the Vicar. "So you
really think he is cut out for business; something commercial? Well, I
confess I had rather hankered after something more definitely academic
and scholastic--something more intellectual! But I bow to your superior
knowledge, Howard, and we must think of possible openings. Well, I
shall enjoy that. My own money, what there is of it, was made by my
grandfather in trade--the manufacture of cloth, I believe. Would cloth
now, the manufacture of cloth, appear to provide the requisite opening?
I have some cousins still in the firm."
"I think it would do as well as anything else," said Howard, "and if
you have any interest in a particular business, it would be worth while
to make inquiries."
"Before I go to bed to-night," said the Vicar, "I will send a statement
of the case to my cousin; that will set the ball rolling."
"Won't you have a talk with Jack first?" said Howard. "You may depend
upon it he will have some views."
"The very thing," said the Vicar. "I will put aside all my other work,
and talk to Jack after tea; if any difficulty should arise, I may look
to you for further counsel. This is really most satisfactory. This
matter has been in my mind in a nebulous way for a long time; and you
enter the scene with your intellectual grip, and your psychological
penetration--if that is not too intricate a word--and the situation is
clear at once. Well, I am most grateful to you."
The talk then became general, or rather passed into the Vicar's hands.
"I have ventured," he said, "to indicate to Maud what Cousin Anne was
good enough to tell me last night--she laid no embargo on the news--and
a few particulars about your inheritance will not be lacking in
interest--and on our walk this afternoon, to which I am greatly looking
forward, we will explore your domains."
This simple compliment produced a curious effect on Howard. He realised
as he had not done before the singular change in his position that his
aunt's announcement had produced: a country squire, a proprietor--he
could not think of himself in that light--it was like a curious dream.
After luncheon, Mr. Sandys excused himself for a few minutes; he had to
step over and speak to the sexton. Maud would take Howard round the
garden, show him her room, "just our simple background--we want you to
realise that!"
As soon as they were alone together, Howard said to Maud, "We seem to
have settled Jack's affairs very summarily. I hope you do agree with
me?"
"Yes," said Maud, "I do indeed. It is wonderful to me that you should
know so much about him, with all your other pupils to know. He isn't a
boy who talks much about himself, though he seems to; and I don't think
my father understood what he was feeling. Jack doesn't like being
interfered with, and he was getting to resent programmes being drawn
up. Papa is so tremendously keen about anything he takes up that he
carries one away; and then you come and smooth out all the
difficulties. It isn't always easy--" she broke off suddenly, and
added, "That is what Jack wants, what he calls something REAL. He is
bored with the life here, and yet he is always good about it."
"Do you like the life here?" said Howard. "I can't tell you what an
effect it all produces on me; it all seems so simple and beautiful. But
I know that one mustn't trust first impressions. People in picturesque
surroundings don't always feel picturesque. It is very pleasant to make
a drama out of one's life and to feel romantic--but one can't keep it
up--at least I can't. That must come of itself."
Howard felt that the girl was watching him with a look of almost
startled interest. She said in a moment, "Yes, that's quite true, and
it IS a difficulty. I should like to be able to talk to you about those
things--I hear so much about you, you know, from Jack, that you are not
like a stranger at all. Now papa has got the gift of romance; every bit
of his life is interesting and exciting to him--it's perfectly
splendid--but Jack has not got that at all. I seem to understand them
both, and yet I can't explain them to each other. I don't mean they
don't get on, but neither can quite see what the other is aiming at.
And I have felt that I ought to be able to do something. I can't
understand how you have cleared it up; but I am very glad and grateful
about it: it has been a trouble to me. Cousin Anne is wonderful about
it, but she seems able to let things alone in a way I can't dare to."
"Oh, one learns that as one gets older," said Howard. "One can't argue
things straight. One can only go on hoping and wishing, and if possible
understanding. I used to make a great mess of it with my pupils at one
time, by thinking one could talk them round; but one can't persuade
people of things, one can only just suggest, and let it be; and after
all no one ever resents finding himself interesting to some one else;
only it has got to be interest, and not a sense of duty."
"That is what Cousin Anne says," said Maud, "and when I am with her, I
think so too; and then something tiresome happens and I meddle, I
meddle! Jack says I like ruling lines, but that it is no good, because
people won't write on them."
X