V.

Mrs. Norton flung her black shawl over her shoulders, rattled her

keys, and scolded the servants at the end of the long passage. Kitty,

as she watered the flowers in the greenhouse, often wondered why John

had chosen to become a priest and grieve his mother. One morning, as

she stood watching the springtide, she saw him walking up the drive:

the sky was bright with summer hours, and the beds were catching

flower beneath the evergreen oaks. She ran to Mrs. Norton, who was

attending to the canaries in the bow-window.

'Look, look, Mrs. Norton, John is coming up the drive; it is he--

look!' 'John!' said Mrs. Norton, seeking for her glasses nervously;

'yes, so it is; let's run and meet him. But no; let's take him rather

coolly. I believe half his eccentricity is only put on because he

wishes to astonish us. We won't ask him any questions--we'll just wait

and let him tell his own story---'

'How do you do, mother?' said the young man, kissing Mrs. Norton with

less reluctance than usual. 'You must forgive me for not having

answered your letters. It really was not my fault.... And how do you

do, Kitty? Have you been keeping my mother company ever since? It is

very good of you; I am afraid you must think me a very undutiful son.

But what is the news?'

'One of the rooks is gone.'

'Is that all? ... What about the ball at Steyning? I hear it was a

great success.'

'Oh, it was delightful.'

'You must tell me about it after dinner. Now I must go round to the

stables and tell Walls to fetch my things from the station.'

'Are you going to be here for some time?' said Mrs. Norton with an

indifferent air.

'Yes, I think so; that is to say, for a couple of months--six weeks. I

have some arrangements to make; but I will speak to you about all that

after dinner.'

With these words John left the room, and he left his mother agitated

and frightened.

'What can he mean by having arrangements to make?' she asked. Kitty

could of course suggest no explanation, and the women waited the

pleasure of the young man to speak his mind. He seemed, however, in no

hurry to do so; and the manner in which he avoided the subject

aggravated his mother's uneasiness. At last she said, unable to bear

the suspense any longer--

'Have you had a quarrel with the Jesuits?'

'Not exactly a quarrel, but the order is so entirely opposed to the

monastic spirit. What I mean is--well, their worldliness is repugnant

to me--fashionable friends, confidences, meddling in family affairs,

dining out, letters from ladies who need consolation.... I don't mean

anything wrong; pray don't misunderstand me. I merely mean to say that

I hate their meddling in family affairs. Their confessional is a kind

of marriage bureau; they have always got some plan on for marrying

this person to that, and I must say I hate all that sort of thing....

If I were a priest I would disdain to... but perhaps I am wrong to

speak like that. Yes, it is very wrong of me, and before... Kitty, you

must not think I am speaking against the principles of religion; I am

only speaking of matters of---'

'And have you given up your rooms in Stanton College?'

'Not yet--that is to say, nothing is settled definitely; but I do not

think I shall go back there, at least not to live.'

'And do you still think of becoming a priest?'

'On that point I am not certain. I am not yet quite sure that I have a

vocation for the priesthood. I would wish the world to be my

monastery. Be that as it may, I intend altering the house a little

here and there; you know how repugnant this mock Italian architecture

is to my feelings. For the present I am determined only on a few

alterations. I have them all in my head. The billiard-room, that

addition of yours, can be turned into a chapel. And the casements of

the dreadful bow-window might be removed; and instead of the present

flat roof a sloping tiled roof might be carried up against the wall of

the house. The cloisters would come at the back of the chapel.'

His mother bit her thin lips, and her face tightened in an expression

of settled grief. Kitty was sorry for Mrs. Norton, but Kitty was too

young to understand, and her sorrow evaporated in laughter. She

listened to John's explanations of the architectural changes as to a

fairy tale. Her innocent gaiety attracted her to him; and as they

walked about the grounds after breakfast he spoke to her about

pictures and statues, of a trip he intended to take to Italy and

Spain, and he did not seem to care to be reminded that this jarred

with his project for immediate realisation of Thornby Priory.

Leaning their backs against the iron railing which divided the

greensward from the park, John and Kitty looked at the house.

'From this view it really is not so bad, though the urns and loggia

are so intolerably out of keeping with the landscape. But when I have

made certain alterations it will harmonise with the downs and the flat

flowing country, so English, with its barns and cottages and rich

agriculture, and there will be then a charming recollection of old

England, the England of the monastic ages, before the--but I forgot I

must not speak to you on that subject.'

'Do you think the house will look prettier than it does now? Mrs.

Norton says that it will be impossible to alter Italian architecture

into Gothic.'

'Mother does not know what she is talking about. I have it all down in

my pocket-book. I have various plans.... I admit it is not easy, but

last night I fancy I hit on an idea. I shall of course consult an

architect, although really I don't see there is any necessity for so

doing, but just to be on the safe side; for in architecture there are

many practical difficulties, and to be on the safe side I will consult

an experienced man regarding the practical working out of my design. I

made this drawing last night.' John produced a large pocket-book.

'But, oh, how pretty! will it be really like that?'

'Yes,' exclaimed John, delighted; 'it will be exactly like that. The

billiard-room can be converted into a chapel by building a new high-

pitched roof.'

'Oh, John, why should you do away with the billiard-room; why

shouldn't the monks play billiards? You played on the day of the

meet.'

'I am not a monk yet.' The conversation paused a moment and then John

continued, 'That dreadful addition of my mother's cannot remain in its

present form; it is hideous, but it can be converted very easily into

a chapel. It will not be difficult. A high-pitched timber roof,

throwing out an apse at the end, and putting in mullioned and

traceried windows filled with stained glass.'

'And the cloister you are speaking about--where will that be?'

'The cloister will come at the back of the chapel, and an arched and

vaulted ambulatory will be laid round the house. Later on I shall add

a refectory, and put a lavatory at one end of the ambulatory.'

'But don't you think, John, you may become tired of being a monk, and

then the house will have to be built back again?'

'No; the house will be from every point of view a better house when my

alterations are carried into effect. And as for my becoming a monk,

that is in the main an idea of my mother's. Monastic life, I admit,

presents great attractions for me, but that does not mean that I shall

become a monk. My mother does not understand an impersonal admiration

for anything. She cannot understand that it is impossible to become a

monk unless you have a vocation. It is all a question of vocation.'

Later in the day Mrs. Norton stopped John as he was hurrying to his

room. She was much excited by the news just received of the engagement

of one of the Austin girls. She approved of the match, and spoke

enthusiastically of the girl's beauty.

'I could never see it. It never appealed to me in the least.'

'But no woman does. You never think a woman good-looking.'

'Yes, I do. But you never can understand an impersonal admiration for

anything. You say I do not appreciate beauty in women because I do not

marry. You say I am determined on becoming a monk, because I admire

monastic life.'

'But are you going to become a monk?' 'I am not sure that I should not

prefer the world to be my monastery.'

'Now you are talking nonsense.'

'Now you are beginning to be rude, mother. ... We were discussing the

question of beauty in women.'

'Well, what fault, I should like to know, do you find with Lucy?'